


Learning from the Shadows

by Shuriken7



Series: A Collision of Worlds [7]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American Civil War, Drama, Drama & Romance, Falling In Love, Historical, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Romance, War of 1812
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-06-09 21:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15276432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shuriken7/pseuds/Shuriken7
Summary: Set during the events of The Shadows Fall Behind (USxUK story). Companion fic to the USxUK series Collision of Worlds.The War of 1812 shocks Canada to the core, requiring him to grow up in ways he never imagined. When he finally gets what he's wanted from France, his whole world shifts. How will he keep it a secret from England and the rest of the world? It's one thing for his brother to chase after another nation, a whole other for someone who is still a colony, a British colony.A series of stories of what Canada and France were up to during the events of The Shadows Fall Behind.





	1. My Dearest Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! With the excitement of A Series of Historical Events I accidentally left this story by the way side. I'm working on getting it finished now. It's a little longer than the other France/Canada spinoff stories in this series, so I'll be posting it by chapter over then next few weeks. I have about 8 planned - we'll see if it stays that way as I finish up. :)
> 
> I hope this story sheds a little more light on the more passionate, but rockier relationship Canada was having with the FACE family throughout the Shadows Fall Behind.

_December 30, 1813_

_Buffalo, New York_

The smoke was thick in the air, but the sounds of the battle were far away now. Canada rubbed at the soot from his hands in the snow, tears sliding down his face and blurring his glasses. He couldn’t decide if he was crying for Newark or himself or Buffalo or America. Maybe he was crying over how good it had felt to set fire to America’s buildings.

It was his first real war, he knew that now. In the Seven Years War he was there, but it was really France. Then in America’s war, it was England. But England needed him to stand his own ground this time. He was too busy fighting France. America might think he was fighting England, but he was really fighting him. If Canada lost... he was going to lose more than his sovereignty, he could feel it. This had to be done, he told himself. America had to be repaid for what he did to the people of Newark, his commander giving them three hours to prepare to lose their homes in the middle of winter. It was atrocious. But then, hadn’t he just done the same thing?

He felt the bile rising in his throat, unable to contain it as his stomach emptied itself onto the ground. Crawling away from the sick on his hands and knees he fell into the snow, willing away the sound of the burning town and the drum beats that tried to get the soldiers back in line. It was hopeless, he could feel the desire to loot and destroy pumping through his own veins, the commanders weren’t going to be able to stop them. Canada pressed his face into the snow, wishing that he could disappear into it. However, this land knew it wasn’t his. He was on America’s side of the river. Buffalo and Black Rock had been America’s towns.

The footsteps on the snow made him freeze. He knew he was as bright as a bloodstain against the white in his uniform. Maybe they would think he was dead if he lay still? The footsteps kept coming and Canada braced himself. It could be someone making sure the British soldier was dead. The bayonet could be coming at his back at any moment!

“I know you’re alive so you may as well stand up and face me.” Canada flinched, so America was here after all. Slowly, he got to his feet, clothes wet and cold from the snow. He turned around and looked at his brother. America looked ragged, backlit from the burning town, hair singed as though he’d gotten too close to the flames. Probably trying to put them out. He was holding a pistol loosely at his side. “Why?”

Canada felt indignation flare in his chest. “Why? Alfred, for God’s sakes, you burned down Newark. You blew up York!”

“Only the fort and it was a fucking accident! Your people were the ones who set off the gunpowder when they retreated!”

“Because they didn’t want you to have it!”

“It wasn’t your gunpowder it was England’s! What do you care!?”

“ _You_ invaded _me!_ ”

“And now you’ve invaded me. How did it feel? Do you feel powerful now, Matthew, proud of yourself?”

Canada balled his fists. “How dare you act like I started this? This is an eye for an eye!” Something changed in America’s face, it grew cold in a way he’d never seen before. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather crept down Canada’s spine. America was angry. At him. He wanted to run, go back to his boats on the shore and row across the Niagara. Destroy the docks further so America couldn’t follow him. America looked down at the ground for a moment, then back at him. Canada reached for the pistol on his belt, drawing it before America even had his half-raised. He squeezed the trigger. Time slowed. He felt that he could hear the hammer drop, setting off the gunpowder to propel the ball at America. It wasn’t the first time he’d ever shot at him, he was ashamed to realize. It was, however, the first time he’d tried to really hurt him.

The ball slammed into America’s shoulder, knocking him backwards as though he’d been hit with something large. It was his gun arm and his pistol dropped into the snow as he clutched at his chest, the blood already starting to seep out between his fingers.

“Alfred!” he cried, dropping his pistol into the snow and running forward. He couldn’t believe he’d done it, his stomach twisting again with the numbness in which he’d done it. His hand covered America’s, the soot from Buffalo’s buildings mixing with their nation’s blood. Tears welled up in his eyes again. “Damn you, you made me do this. Your stupid pride... Yours and England’s.” He pressed his face into America’s unwounded shoulder.

“You’re the one who pulled the trigger...” America replied. Canada wasn’t sure what the sound was until he felt the sharp edge of America’s knife against his throat. It just rested against his skin, pricking the outer layer.

“Alfred...” Canada gasped, wondering if he would be able to push the knife away before America’s muscles tensed and it bit into his throat. They weren’t humans, they could survive all kinds of wounds, but that didn’t mean he wanted to test that limit. Would America really deal him a killing blow?

“I hate this.”

“We’ll survive,” said Canada, not sure where the confidence came from. They would still be there, side by side after this, he knew. America, despite his bravado, wasn’t going to be able to snuff him out. Would he keep trying?

“How will things go back to normal?”

“I don’t know,” Canada replied. The shove hit him in the sternum. The force with which America shoved him away sent him sprawling several feet away in the snow. He sat up, looking at America getting shakily to his feet. The blood from the bullet wound dripped down his uniform sleeve onto the pale white snow.

He straightened himself up, absentmindedly running his good hand through his hair, leaving streaks of blood throughout the yellow strands. He looked monstrous in a way that made Canada’s blood turn cold. “When you tell Arthur about your _victory..._ tell him he better send you more troops. This isn’t the end.”

He limped away back towards the woods, leaving Canada in the mud, blood, and snow on the wrong side of the Niagara. _No,_ he thought, _It’s not over until Arthur gets here._

***

_December 1814_

_York, Canada_

Something had changed, Canada could feel it in his bones. The fever that was America to the south had been drawn away. America and England were finally going to try and make peace. That was something at least.

The night was dark and the fire had grown low in the hearth of his cabin. He needed to be away from it all, quiet here in the wilderness as winter was coming on. He slid out of bed and walked gingerly over to the wood pile beside the hearth. Adding more logs to the pile of glowing embers he felt the rush of heat as the flames licked up the new wood. He could only look at them for a moment before the memory returned of explosions and flames. Anger. Hatred. Pain. Remember the feeling of wanting to hurt America like he’d never done before made his stomach turn.

He turned away, intending to bury himself in the sheets of his bed and possibly not rise again until spring. Or maybe not until he could bear to look at America or England again without cursing them both. Their hotheads had burned him, literally and figuratively.

He pulled the blankets over his head, banishing the light. If only it could banish the memories.

At first, he thought it was an errant woodpecker that had come to call on the roof of his cabin. However, the rapping did not have the rhythmic thumping that a bird would give, nor the telltale chatter as the woodpeckers would call to one another. It was a person knocking at this door.

How? No one knew that he was there.

Canada frowned, reaching for the pistol he’d taken to keeping by his bed. The metal was cold in his hand and felt dreadfully heavy in his weak fingers. He pulled a blanket around his shoulders against the chill. The knocking continued. His heart pounded. Perhaps it was merely a traveler.

“Declare yourself,” he said, repeating the words in French.

“Mathieu, Canada, it’s me.”

Canada’s heart beat harder as he undid the bolt and pulled the door open. “Francis?” The elder nation looked battered where his skin showed from beneath the cloak and furs that he’d wrapped around himself for the journey. His face was pale and his hair looked ragged, like straw.

“Will you let me in? I swear I have no quarrel with you, only with Arthur.” Canada nodded, standing aside and letting him into the warmth of the cabin, shutting out the chill and the outside world beyond the door. Canada watched as France removed his cloak and outcoat, taking a seat on the rug near the fire. His clothes were not his usual fare, rough homespun and plain. Only the fancy wrap of his cravat betrayed his sense of fashion. “I know I look dreadful, the defeat came hard.”

“You’re not the only one.” Canada pulled the blanket over his shoulders more tightly before stepping closer to the fire and sitting down beside him. He knew that the light reflected the tiredness of his own face. France’s eyes widened and went immediately to the bruise that still lingered on one of Canada’s cheekbones. “Technically, I won my war, but it wasn’t an easy victory.”

“I hope _Angleterre_ is making him pay for it.”

“I don’t want to imagine Alfred’s face... Arthur burned his capital... they’re in Europe now, trying to come to an arrangement.”

France nodded, his eyes sad. He looked into the fire. “I know, that’s why I came here. I can’t bear to face him. He... my emperor is banished, my army... forgive me, I don’t want to talk about this. He can be such a superior...” France put up his hands in a dramatic flourish, as if only gestures and not words could describe England.

“Why did you come here? Why not... why not stay in Europe?”

“I wanted to see you.” France looked at him, something in his eyes that Canada had never seen before. It wasn’t the soft affectionate look he’d given him when he was small or the cold look he’d given him since America’s first war with England. It was entirely new and it made Canada feel warm in the pit of his stomach.

“I am still British,” he whispered.

“I know, _mon petit,_ but you are also yourself.” Canada looked away, squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to look at the fire and the memories that still seemed so close. He could feel France’s fingers resting on his neck, cool against the heat of his skin. He looked back, taking in the vulnerable look on France’s face.

“What has changed?” he asked. France looked down, his fingers dropping away only to resettle on Canada’s hand. He picked it up and brought Canada’s palm to his mouth. His lips were rough and the sensation made Canada gasp. He moved Canada’s hand and pressed it against his chest over his heart.

“Everything changed, but I understand if you don’t trust that I am not using you. I would deserve--” Canada didn’t let him finish, leaning forward to press his mouth against France’s. For a moment, despair chilled him with the thought that he would be rejected again.

For a moment, France did not move. Then he wrapped an arm around Canada’s waist and pulled him close, his other hand burying itself in his hair. The blanket fell from Canada’s shoulders as he pressed closer, straddling France’s lap in effort to remove any distance between them. The kiss deepened, the taste of France on his tongue at last! It was more than he imagined. He panted against France’s skin when the kiss broke, feeling no small measure of pride that France sounded the same. He could feel the press of him beneath his trousers. France wanted him.

“Are you sure? After all that’s...” Cutting him off with another kiss, Canada took France’s hands in his own and pressed them to his bare thighs beneath his nightshirt, delighting in France’s possessive fingers on his skin.

“I know that you might hurt me again. And maybe one day I’ll be powerful enough to hurt you... but I want this. I’ve wanted this for a long time.” He sat back slightly, reaching to pull the night shirt over his head, leaving himself naked to France’s gaze. “I am myself and, right now, I don’t want you to be anything but yourself.”

France dragged him closer, claiming his mouth, all hesitation gone. His hands roamed over Canada’s back and over his flanks. Strong, sure fingers found their way between his legs and Canada shuddered into France’s grip. France pressed his face against Canada’s shoulder. He grew still.

“What’s wrong?” Canada asked.

“Nothing.”

The quiet between them stretched, the stillness threatening to chase away the butterflies in his chest. Canada wouldn’t let it. “Yes, for you are still wearing too many clothes.”

France chuckled, the warmth of his breath heightening Canada’s senses. “Perhaps you could remedy that situation.” Tightening an arm around Canada’s hips, France pushed them up from the floor, carrying Canada over to the bed and settling him down on the edge. He waited, Canada’s fingers going to the buttons and laces, loosening pieces, and then getting impatient and drawing France down on top of him. Between kisses and Canada’s exploring fingers France managed to get out his coat, waistcoat, and shirt. He winced when Canada’s fingers brushed against his ribs. Pausing Canada tried to get a look. “Battle wound, nothing more. You don’t have to worry, _mon coeur._ ” France pressed against him, Canada’s legs wrapping around his still clothed hips, the friction making him gasp. Canada’s hands pushed at the hem of France’s trousers until they were pressed skin to skin.

The urgency that had overcome both of them began to wane and a slower exploration of each other’s bodies began. Canada wanted to map every inch of him, heal the hurts that had been hidden. France let him roll on top of him, take control, choose the course of their love making.

“I want... you... to... take me.” Canada said, against France’s skin. Reaching over the edge of the bed for the bag on the floor, fingers tripping against the bottle of salves until he found something that would work. France took the bottle and rolled out from under him. Canada stopped him. “No, face to face. I can take it.”

France nodded, not saying a word as he slid down Canada’s body, taking him into his mouth and preparing him. When France finally slid inside, one hand came to rest on Canada’s where he gripped the headboard. As their bodies moved together, Canada lost all ability to think. He only knew he couldn’t let France forget this moment. This was the way things were meant to be.

***

France awoke to the dawn sun and the soft chirps of the forest’s birds. The room smelled like pine, woodsmoke, and the sharp tang of sex. Canada’s warmth was pressed against his back, an arm holding him across his chest. He tried to summon up the guilt he knew he should feel, some sense of remorse for giving into a selfish desire. For finally taking what Canada had been silently offering him for years. After all, they were enemies. Canada was still a colony, one of England’s pawns. However, as he lay there wrapped up in the smell of him, he couldn’t care about any of it. He’d loved him since he first saw him. When that love had changed, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew now was that for all his warning and overtures to others, this was what he wanted.

He shifted in Canada’s arms so that he could face him. The younger man’s face was still soft with sleep and France reached up to touch his cheek softly, twine the errant curl around his fingers. Canada’s brow furrowed for a moment before he awoke. He blinked at France, his arm tightening around him. “I worried it was all a dream.”

“It is a dream, but let us dream for as long as we can,” he said, pressing close for a kiss and marveling at how well their bodies fit together. His North American, born out of dreams of a new world. He was something different.

He would hold this moment like a delicate bloom as long as he could, even knowing full well that all blooms wilted.

And that he would probably be the one to hasten it along.

***

He traced lines on the smooth expanse of Canada’s back, admiring the lack of damage so many other nation’s bodies showed. Other than a shiny scar from a burn on his abdomen, courtesy of America, Canada was purity itself in France’s mind. The boy’s breath was soft with sleep and the fire was burning low. France didn’t want to leave him, but since he must he was glad to leave him like this, sated and peaceful. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to Canada’s shoulder blade. He slowly drew him closer so that he could face him. Sleeping he seemed even younger and the guilt that he’d been dismissing began to curl within him.

He’d taken Canada’s innocence. His own first time with another nation was something he’d shoved deep away, he’d been smaller than Canada and he still couldn’t quite remember who it had been. He’d blocked out their faces. Some ancient that no longer existed. It had not been love. Perhaps that was something at least. France had not meant to hurt him. He brushed the back of his fingers over Canada’s cheek, watching as his eyelashes fluttered and he squinted at him.

“What is it?”

“I am leaving, _mon petit._ ”

Canada jerked, his eyes sharp and alert. He sat up, the blankets falling from his bare chest. “Why? You said yourself that your war with England is over.” His eyes widened. “That letter that you burned...”

“Apparently, Napoleon Bonaparte is not finished with the war, and thus I am not. He still calls himself my emperor and summons my people to fight for him.” France leaned up, settling himself against the headboard. The look on Canada’s face made the guilt worse. He was so transparent when he was happy, but he could grow as unreadable as a frozen pond. He turned away from France, wrapping his hands around his knees, the bones of his spine pressing against the paleness of his skin. France wanted to touch him, but he couldn’t now.

“England will be furious.”

“I know. I have full confidence he will fall on me like all the dogs of war.”

“Then why are you going?” Canada turned and gathered up France’s hands in his own. “Stay here and then you can say that you had nothing to do with it!” Reaching out with his own hand, he cupped Canada’s cheek, smoothing the lines of distress with his thumb.

“You know that’s not how it works. We both knew this couldn’t last.” Canada reached up and rested his hand on his forearm, fingers tightening on his skin. He pushed France’s hand away, scooting to the edge of the bed and pulling a blanket around his shoulders. With that, France knew he’d snuffed it out. _Guard your heart. Guard your heart. Guard your heart._ He wasn’t sure if he was thinking it at himself or Canada. For the first time in the last few days, Canada began pulling on his clothes. France watched as layer upon layer went on that precious body until he was covered in furs.

“I’m going out. Don’t be here when I come back,” said Canada, his voice tight.

Despair washed over France, his heart quickening. He slid to the edge of the bed himself. “Mathieu... I...”

“I agreed to the terms when we started this. You don’t have to pretend like you love me.” Without giving France a chance to reply, he pulled open the door. The wind sent the fire to sparking and Canada pulled it shut behind him, leaving France in the crackling quiet.

“But I do, _mon coeur,_ and that’s the problem.” Taking his time, France dressed and gathered his things. He hoped that Canada would come back.

He didn’t.


	2. Where do we go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canada was kept away from the battlefield at Waterloo, but he can't keep away from France. What does one do when he loves an enemy?

_June 18, 1815_

_After the Battle of Waterloo_

 

Canada stared up at the canvas of the field tent. He recognized it, because he had been there before. He could remember going inside to meet with England before the battle. England had been sitting at his field desk, his red coat bright against the white fabric of the tent walls. England had asked him something, he knew, but he couldn’t remember the exact words. Possibly something about eating properly and pushing him too far. After that, he could only remember falling, tipping over as the world began to spin.

He understood now.

England had cast a spell on him so that he would sleep through the battle. Tears welled up in his eyes. Was it that England didn’t trust him? Or that he was trying to spare him from witnessing whatever he had done to France on the battlefield? Did he know what had happened? Panic twisted in Canada’s insides at the the thought of England knowing what had passed between him and France in that little cabin.

Sitting up slowly, Canada looked down at his uniform coat. It was different than the one England had given him for America’s war. A new design for a new century, a new war. It was too much in that moment.

Canada stripped off the jacket, throwing it down on the cot and getting to his feet. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, but he was afraid. England was fragile and tired. He didn’t want to hurt him. Besides, Canada had no idea where England was that night. However, he knew exactly where France would be after the fight.

The world felt too quiet as he slipped out of the tent. It was an unnatural stillness that spoke of bloodshed. The soldiers were asleep, any celebrations long over. No one noticed him as he slipped between the lines. The battle was written on every face he saw.

France’s army was destroyed. The alliance against Napoleon had been victorious. The remains of the French Imperial Army was only waiting for terms.

France had to be around here, Canada thought. There was no way he left his men here in defeat. Although, Canada considered, he could be with his leaders, whoever that would be in the void that was left after Napoleon fled. A sense of foolishness flooded his chest, as he paused between two tents. Turning on his heel, he made to go back towards the British camp. HIs eyes widened when a pair of boots entered his vision. His gaze slid up the man’s ruined uniform, the arm bound to his chest. A bandage was wrapped over one eye, but Canada knew him in an instant.

“Francis...”

“Arthur’s heart must be fully stone by this point to have brought you to such a place.” France reached out with his good hand and stroked Canada’s cheek.

Canada bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to blur his vision. “He’s so angry.”

“At you?”

“I... is there somewhere we could go?” France nodded, tilting his head toward a small farmhouse. Canada followed, taking in France’s limp. There was a clear hoofprint on the back of his coat. “Were you stepped on by a horse?”

“Possibly. I don’t remember everything. It has been a long time since a mess like this... many widows and orphans were made this day.”

They didn’t speak as they entered the house and walked past abandoned maps, the blocks representing troops scattered across the table and floor. “Where is everyone?” Canada asked.

“They fled. I stayed.” There was a cask of wine in the corner. France pulled the cork and poured the red liquid awkwardly into a cup with his unwounded arm. Leaving the cask on its end, France dropped into one of the camp chairs. “Do not judge me, Mathieu, your big brother will be wanting his pound of flesh.”

Canada was quiet, feeling the weight of their differences. It felt like a stolen dream when he’d taken France to his bed. When they had spent those days in companionship. The knowledge of his own naivety made him want to run back to England’s tent and beg to be sent home to where things made sense. Even America’s stoney silence in the aftermath of his conflict with England felt preferable. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“No,” France said, “But since you are here...” He beckoned Canada closer. As soon as Canada stepped forward, France grasped his wrist and drew him into the circle of his arms, face pressed into Canada’s chest. Wrapping his arms around his shoulders, Canada pressed his nose to the top of France’s head. His hair smelled of gunpowder and sweat. “ _Ma joie...”_ France’s voice was muffled against Canada’s shirt. They existed in silence, France in his chair and Canada bent over as if he could soothe hurts he did not inflict. He pressed his lips against France’s forehead, drawing a relaxed sound from France.

“You should rest.”

“Come with me, _mon cherie._ ” France looked up at him. The feeling that he shouldn’t be there came back in full force. What would England do if he found him in the enemy’s camp? Canada knew too well what England looked like when he felt he was being betrayed. The thought of that heartbroken look being directed towards him made him shudder. France seemed to understand his thoughts before he voice them. “Do not worry. I will make sure you are back before Arthur knows you were gone. He will be busy with his allies until dawn.”

Leaning forward slightly, Canada pressed his mouth against France’s, the worries chasing away as France responded to his kiss. “Until dawn, then.”

France stood up slowly, their noses brushing together as he lost his balance on his injured leg. “I’m afraid I may not be capable of much _l’amour._ ”

Canada chuckled. “I just want to be with you.”

“Then let us be together.” He took Canada’s hand and led him to a small bedroom up a small flight of stairs.

Canada found that he couldn’t sleep. He watched France’s face as he lay beside him drawn into slumber from exhaustion. He traced his features with his eyes. The last time they had been laying side by side, Canada had felt no guilt at all. Then he’d been angry, but on the voyage with England he’d realized it was as he always told America. They only had moments and they should cherish what they could get. However, he knew he was telling himself a tale. He didn’t want to sneak across enemy lines to see the people he loved. He scooted closer, pressing his lips against France’s for a moment. Then he pressed his nose into the collar of the other’s shirt and drank him in as he fell into a restless sleep.

***

Canada slipped out just before dawn, finding the tent still empty of England when he returned. England stumbled in around breakfast, falling onto his cot. Canada couldn’t look at him. His lips still buzzed with the memory of France’s farewell kiss. That very afternoon he would be seeing him again, only as an enemy.

“I apologize for the spell, Matthew. I hope you understand.” England said after he’d risen for a mid morning breakfast.

“I would have stood by your side.”

“I know it.” England dropped the towel next to the wash bowl. He turned and gave Canada a look that he could not read. “After we return to London you will be on the first ship back home. You have done your duty, my boy.” England gave him a small smile and patted him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Arthur.”

“Now let us go settle this business with the Frog so I can rest.”

“You deserve it.”

England was quiet for a moment. “You’re a good boy, Matthew.”

Canada nodded. He would always do his duty. _When will we all be together again?_ It seemed so distant and impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little short one! Please let me know if there are any scenes that involve Canada or France from The Shadows Fall Behind that you would look forward to seeing! I haven't prewritten ahead too far for this one so I could certainly squeeze in a few more moments! Thanks for reading!


	3. What to do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An economic downfall for England changes things pretty abruptly for Canada when France comes back into England's sphere. Avoiding him is rather easy until Queen Victoria's coronation brings them back face to face.

_Early 1825_

_In the midst of a British economic crash_

“You can go home, Matthew, you have your own business to attend to,” England said from the bed. He was at least sitting up today, his skin still pale. The economic crisis brought on by bad investments had hit him hard.

“I can stay.”

“No, this will sound odd, but I would like you to take a warning to your brother. This unpleasantness will likely trouble him, too.” He coughed and looked away, color in his cheeks. Canada took in his expression. Whatever web England and America were busy weaving together, Canada couldn’t help but feel he would get caught in it.

“All right, I can take word to Alfred.”

“Francis should be arriving soon. Take my orders to the servants that we are not to be disturbed until I call for them. He’s coming to assist me.” Canada’s eyes widened and he looked away. When England and France got together nothing was ever simple. What was worse, their long history would get the better of them. With a twist in his stomach, Canada remembered another night, an uncomfortably short few decades ago, when he asked France why he had taken England to bed when they were enemies. Comfort, he’d said. Was that what England wanted now? French money and French comfort.

Jealousy welled up in Canada’s stomach. There was nothing he could do. He was a colony. England was an empire. He wasn’t truly free to choose. Canada knew more of Europe’s mind than he really wanted. Help came with payment, one way or another.

“I will pack,” Canada said, his heart not truly in his words. He wanted to be out of the room. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone else under France’s hands, but France had his reputation. He’d always known. He was never going to be the only one. He didn’t even hear England’s acknowledgement before he was closing the door behind him.

***

France knew it was going to be a pleasant day. England needed his help and lording the loan over him was going to be so delightful. He strode through the halls of the Windsor ready to torment England with needing to ask again for funds in person.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he walked into someone else. “ _Je suis desole._ ”

The young man was already darting around a corner and disappearing, a clerk perhaps? France raised his hand to England’s door and knocked.

“Arthur, _mon ami,_ you have no idea how much pleasure it gives me to offer you assistance.”

England raised an eyebrow at him and yanked him into the room by his waist coat. “I had another pleasure in mind.”

France smiled. “I know.”

England’s biting kiss was so familiar, but France could tell it was not the kiss England was craving. France realized he felt the same. But this was safe, normal, not full of emotions and heart. Not something that could tear the world apart at the seams. At least, not anymore.

In that moment, he didn’t want to think, so he lost himself in another’s embrace.

***

Throwing his clothes into his trunk, Canada blinked back tears of anger.

He was angry at England.

At France.

At himself for not realizing that a week alone together was an anomaly. That once back in the Old World, old rules came back into play. He wanted nothing more than to be back home. America would understand. He knew what it felt like to not be seen. Only, he didn’t have a week in a cabin in the woods where the world had just been him and the one he wanted so badly. Canada dropped one of his shoes on the floor and was half-tempted to kick it across the room.

A soft knock signalled a servant. Taking a deep breath, he told the person to come in. It was one of England’s, a man who always seemed to be around bringing papers and tea and anything else England wanted. His arms were full of a neatly wrapped parcel, a twine string holding it tightly closed.

“Mr. Williams, Lord Kirkland sent these for you and your brother.” A parcel was left on the table and the man bowed himself out at Canada’s nod. He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the package. It wasn’t perfectly wrapped, England must have taken the time to wrap it himself. That gave Canada pause. He’d known England a long time and been by his side for decades now. He had a soft streak that would come out from time to time. Canada couldn’t help but wonder what America saw in that side. How did it make him feel when the portcullis would fall again and England grew as cold as a castle wall? Canada felt cold, himself.

Standing up, he took the parcel and settled it on top of his things. He would go home and forget that France had come to him, held him in his arms, but never said he loved him.

It wasn’t as though they’d made promises to each other.

America’s words came back to him. _Is that really enough for you?_

No.

It wasn’t.

***

_June 1837_

_London, England_

“Alfred is coming and one would think the world was ending with the way you are behaving,” France said, leaning back against the pillows. England continued his pacing along one side of the bed. He’d pulled on a nightshirt, the white sleeves caught around his wrists as he rubbed a spot on his chin. He whirled on France.

“For God’s sake! I don’t give a damn about Alfred’s obscenely late arrival. If that damnable ship isn’t at the docks at dawn he won’t ever hear the end of it!”

“Your words are not convincing.” As England passed by on another round, France grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back into the bed.

“Unhand me!” England shouted, struggling as France pressed him face down into the mattress.

“I will once you admit you are flustered over the invitation you sent to dear _Amerique._ ” England’s words were muffled in the pillow. “What was that?” France asked, leaning up. England took the opportunity to elbow him in the stomach and scramble back to his feet.

“I said it is none of your damn business how I engage with my... with the United States of America,” said England with a haughty lift of his chin. He walked well out of France’s reach and barked for his valet to come dress him.

“When word got out that he would be your exclusive companion...”

“The gossips can go to hell. The coronation is about Victoria’s ascent to the throne and Alfred is a valuable trade partner.”

“The things we say to delude ourselves,” France muttered. England ignored him. “I suppose we will be together at dinner tomorrow night.”

England made a noncommittal sound as he undressed and his manservant began dressing him in something suitable for a carriage ride. France watched him as he methodically held out his arms as he was buttoned and laced. England was being strange. He’d only seen him be this edgy when it came to America. Apparently, the boy raised the elder nation’s blood pressure in more ways than one. It was very interesting.

After England walked out in a flurry, France made ready for the day. A coronation was always an event, and he was looking forward to spending time with the others and England’s open liquor cabinets. They had been given a suite of rooms at one end of the palace and Spain had invited him. He looked forward to catching up on gossip. “Francis!” France turned around and took in the rather charming appearance of Portugal. He raised an eyebrow and waited patiently for the other to catch up with him. What could this be about?

“Vicente, how are you?”

The Portuguese man frowned. “Trying to avoid certain individuals.”

“Well, Arthur hurried off to the docks this morning to wait for passenger ships. It seems Alfred has kept him waiting and he is in a positive flux over it.” He turned to continue walking down the hall.

Portugal caught him by the elbow. “What do you make of that?”

“Of what?”

“Arthur’s obsession with that former colony.”

“Vicente, you may have some of your own talents, but you must remember the oddities and eccentricities of _l’amour._ ”

“I shouldn’t have expected a straight answer out of you.”

“No, you should not have.”

“It just seems that he’s been scratching an itch lately.”

“Indeed.” Portugal looked ready to say something else, but France raised a hand towards Antonio and the other wrinkled his nose and drifted away. France made his way towards his friend who was leaning casually in the doorway watching the other nation depart.

“He was so much cuter when he was little,” Spain said, offering France the half-drunk glass of wine in his hands.

“Aren’t they always? Arthur certainly was,” said France, laughing.

“That is not the word I would use to describe Arthur when he was young. Although, he has raised some rather attractive colonies. Shocking as that might be to say.” France stared at him, struck dumb for a moment. “Like that shadow of his.”

The words tumbled out as a feeling of possessiveness gripped his chest. “Are you speaking of Canada?”

“ _Si,_ the North American that isn’t giving me trouble. I should never have supported America’s bid for independence. Not only did he drive Mexico to get ideas and independence, but now he wants Florida.” Spain huffed. “Let’s not talk about unpleasant things, not while Arthur is paying the bills.”

The two friends laughed and disappeared into the room to start the festivities early.

***

Canada knew he should have expected that he would end up babysitting the colonies. England trusted him to do it, although Canada didn’t know if that was much of a compliment or not. His elder brother had been either worrying over steps in the coronation, complaining that America was late, or in his rooms with France. The first two he had expected, the final didn’t sit well at all.

He’d stolen to the kitchen, to try and check on the separate meal that was being made for colonies too young to sit at the dinner table in mixed company with humans. He leaned against the corner of the room, knowing that he looked out of place. It bothered him that France was somewhere in the palace and he didn’t have the heart to see what things had changed.

Thinking about France was a poor choice. He could picture himself wrapped up in the other’s arms, but then the thoughts changed to France taking another. Did he even have a right to be upset? America thought so... Canada wasn’t so sure. It was France’s nature, he knew it well, only... Canada pinched the skin on the back of his hand to break himself out of his melancholy. It was unseemly during the first coronation he’d actually been invited to attend. He walked back out of the kitchen, determined to enjoy himself.

The younger colonies in bed, the fireworks completed, Canada made his way back toward the wing where the nations had been housed. He masked a yawn behind his hand. He’d been looking for England for nearly an hour, but he’d all but disappeared with America in tow. A twinge of jealousy settled in his chest. Despite England’s behavior, America still got to be in the company of someone he claimed to love. _I don’t love France, it’s just an infatuation,_ he told himself.

Canada was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t see the other person until he was sent sprawling on the floor. For a moment, nothing happened, Canada just blinked up in a daze. “Who are you?” Canada looked up into Prussia’s red-eyed squint. The German held a beer stein in one hand and offered the other to pick him up off the floor. Canada took it, now hearing the conversation and laughter from the room beyond. The party was apparently continuing despite England’s absence.

“Matthew Williams. Canada.”

“Right. Alfred’s brother. He would talk about how much he wanted you on his side during his revolution.”

Canada rubbed awkwardly at one arm. “Mr. Beilschmidt...”

Prussia snorted. “Gilbert.”

“Gilbert. I find it hard to believe you remember me merely because Alfred mentioned me once or twice.”

“I remember because I wished my brothers gave as much of a damn about whose side I was on.” Prussia hooked an arm around Canada’s shoulders before he could protest, walking him back into the room.

A group of nations sat around a card table, drinks being poured and a cloud of smoke hovering over the table. Scotland, Netherlands, Spain, and Austria glanced up at him. “I thought we said no bairns,” said Scotland, giving a pointed look to Prussia.

“We’ve all heard each other’s stories, now we’ve got a captive audience to be impressed by yours truly!” Prussia laughed and shoved Canada into the remaining chair. Spain cracked a smile, but the remaining rolled their eyes.

Regardless, Canada was dealt into the game.

***

“He went where?!” France spat out, nearly dropping his coffee cup into its saucer. Spain recounted the events of the evening once more. Cards, drinks, and then Canada leaving the room with Prussia.

“I went back alone,” Spain said, pouting slightly. He stirred more sugar into his cup. “Why are you so interested in this, _mi amigo?_ ”

It was a valid question. He’d worked hard to make sure that no one suspected what had happened between himself and Canada. France gave Spain a coy smile. “It’s a secret.”

“Or perhaps not so secret. We all had our eyes on North America for a long time. I remember Alfred’s shadow.”

“Arthur’s shadow really.” France felt a twinge in his chest. He needed to change the subject.

The discussion of fashion was thin, neither of their hearts completely into the discussion. It was easy to say one thing and think another. It couldn’t have been what Spain had implied. What interest could Prussia possibly have in the quiet Canadian nation? Breakfast finished, France had the intention of finding out. Or at the very least, put England on the scent. He could destroy a dalliance with one blow. Unfortunately, England continued to prove illusive.

“Ah, Gilbert!” France called out, spying the German walking with his younger brother. “ _Bonjour,_ Ludwig.”

“Keep walking, Francis, I won’t have you ruining my brother’s innocence.” Prussia glared at him and France nearly told him he was looking in the wrong direction for the destroyer of Germany’s virtue. However, that was not the task at hand.

“Speaking of innocence, I heard you walked out with Mathieu last night.”

“The kid was drunk and couldn’t walk a straight line. Honestly, nearly as bad as Arthur,” Prussia said. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were worried.” Prussia peered at him and France was immediately grateful that his friend’s skill lay in reading battlefields and not emotions.

“Just catching up on gossip,” France said. “Where are you two off to today?”

***

Of course, England would seat him too far down the table to actually speak with him. From his place at the table, France could see all of the colonies seated near the head with their new Queen. Canada was trying to keep some of the younger ones from making a scene while he chatted with India. Unable to focus, he found himself idly staring at America. The boy wasn’t even trying to hide the glances he kept throwing up the table, completely forgetting which fork to use for which course. It was during one of the prolonged looks that France saw it, eyebrows raising. Little _Amerique_ had been amorous with someone. The mysterious lover had left a mark.

“ _Amerique..._ Alfred...”

“Huh?”

“Have you been listening?”

The smile that hid any emotions spread across America’s face. France had to give him credit for that, it effectively made him look like a fool, but he heard everything. Little _Amerique_ was going to be trouble eventually. “Not really.” America said. He turned back to his plate and France saw it again. He reached out and tapped it, the blush that immediately spread across America’s face immensely satisfying. France began guessing.

“Look, I know you are still sore at me over your revolution and over the deal we had about New Orleans... just don’t be a jackass about this.” France snorted in amusement, America was so easy to get a rise out of when he was worried. Even when he’d been little, he’d been a terrible liar.“I’m serious.”

“Oh ho, that narrows down the candidates quite a bit.” France’s eyes met his for just a moment. The fear that France knew the truth was all that was needed. Really now? England had forgotten his moral qualms over him? France glanced up at him, England had been careful about not looking in their direction the entire evening. He leaned back in his seat. If true, America was in for a world of hurt. “Oh, my dear boy...”

“Stop. It’s not like that.”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” France replied, eyes falling on Canada’s face. He wasn’t going to be able to avoid him this entire trip. Both boys were terrible about wearing their emotions on their sleeves.

***

France hadn’t meant to run into England on his way towards Canada. However, it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. What had changed? He had to know. England had been in a complete nervous fit for days before America arrived and now they were in bed together?! There had to be a story.

Or quite possibly they were just the most obtuse idiots in the world.

The way England’s face went milk pale at the mention that America had been in love with him for decades should have been satisfying, but it actually made France’s heart hurt more. America had been single-minded about his love for England, hadn’t even taken him up on an offer made so long ago. England could have what he, France, wanted and wasn’t going to take it!

“Francis, you’re telling me nonsense,” England insisted, shrugging out his grip. France was about to say something more, but England’s eyes darted past his shoulder. America was moving towards them. France nearly threw up his hands. They deserved each other, honestly.

“I’ll leave you to it, Arthur.”

“There’s nothing to leave!” England argued back. France shook his head and made his way into the mix of humans and nations. There was another blond head he was seeking. When he spotted Canada, he didn’t like the curl of jealousy in his chest. He truly had no right, but it was there all the same. Canada had joined Prussia and several others in conversation. France walked up, a charming smile on his face although he really wanted to punch Prussia in the face for lying to him.

“There appeared to be so much fun to be had over here, I must know the news,” France said, leaning on his old friend and probably enemy in love. Prussia glanced up at him.

“There’s some better liquor than this frilly stuff,” Prussia said, holding up the glass.

“That is French wine and I would like to say that I’m glad Arthur had good enough taste to order it.” France gave his friend a mock glare.

“ _Ja,_ well, I brought some schnapps. We were gonna drink it. Also, I think we might get a good show if we do.” Prussia directed his glass towards England stalking through the hall followed closely by America.

“Ah, yes, Arthur’s problems do always tend to spill themselves out when alcohol gets involved.” France looked at Canada, but the colony was looking at the floor, a furrow between his brow. It stung, the memories of fifty years ago welling to the surface. Canada wouldn’t look at him then either. “Mathieu, what do you make of your dear brothers’ behaviors?”

“Nothing,” he said, voice so quiet it was difficult to hear over the noise of the party. “I need to go speak to Her Majesty, but then I’ll join you.” He looked at Prussia when he said this, making France’s jealousy growl a little in his chest.

Prussia didn’t seem to notice. “Ha! Let’s get out of here then! Ludwig, c’mon!” Prussia clapped his younger brother on the shoulder and began steering him out of the room. France followed, wondering how many shots it would take to make Prussia confess to whatever had really happened last night.

***

By the time Canada arrived at the party, it was in full swing. No one seemed to notice when he slipped into the room, going straight to the array of glass bottles that were spread across a table against one wall. Nations, some he knew and some he didn’t, were milling around in groups. He could see America and England sitting together. Something had changed there, America wasn’t even pretending that he didn’t care. He was sure he’d hear the story when England inevitably pulled away.

He could see France in the corner, talking animatedly with Belgium while Netherlands leaned against the wall and watched the rest of the crowd. He downed one drink and then grabbed another. Canada’s feelings felt muddled. He could really use them being numb. He leaned against the wall and frowned in France’s direction. Did he feel as terrible?

“Hey, kid.” Canada startled, not expecting anyone to notice him. He turned to see Prussia, joining him on his place on the wall. “You should look like you’re having more fun, people will start talking.”

“Who talks about me?” Canada said, sarcasm in his voice. “Other than Alfred apparently.”

“The colony that Arthur leans on? You’re the talk of the town sometimes. We also hear all about your natural resources.” Canada pinked and grabbed at the neck of one of the liquor bottles, refilling his glass.

“Oh? I wouldn’t think that would matter much.”

“In the game of world powers everything matters.” Canada glanced up at him, weighing the potential opportunity. It would probably be easy, to fall into another nation’s bed. England never needed to know. What would France do? The liquor was beginning to settle in his stomach and make its way through his veins. Reckless. That was what he wanted.

He straightened against the wall, his height causing Prussia to tilt his head back just slightly. “Really?” He put his fingers on Prussia’s waistcoat, tugging just a little in invitation. Prussia’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I think you’ve had a few too many, kid.”

“I’m not a kid.” Canada pressed closer into his space. _I want someone to want me._

Prussia licked his lips and looked away. “No, not really.” He took Canada’s wrist in his fingers and with an expert tug, backed Canada up. “But your new at this. If I’m going to be playing games tonight I want to do it with someone who knows the rules.”

“You could teach me.”

Prussia laughed. “I’m guessing there’s someone else who you would rather have teach you.” He tilted his head and Canada could see France approaching them out of the corner of his eye. “But I’m going to make a wager that he didn’t.”

Canada felt the blood rush to his face in embarrassment. If Prussia could guess, did everyone know? Would someone tell England? “Did he tell everyone?”

“No, but I know a thing or two about being in love with someone you shouldn’t be.”

“I’m not in love with him.” The words tumbled out so quickly they tasted like lies. Prussia knew it.

“And I’m not going to teach you the game. Let the New World invent something different.” Prussia leaned close to him. “It’s not that I wouldn’t be interested, so don’t you worry about that.” Canada’s blush darkened as Prussia stepped away.

“Gilbert, Ludwig was looking for you,” France said, stopping a few feet from them, his face lacking it usual flippant joviality.

Prussia grinned at him. “I’m sure he is. Gotta make sure my awesome little brother doesn’t fall into the wrong bed now, huh?”

“Precisely.”

“Good talk, Francis.” Gilbert clapped France hard on the shoulder and winked at Canada. He left, leaving a void between them. Canada took the liquor bottle again, but France’s hand landed on his wrist. Canada jerked back.

“Don’t touch me.”

“I don’t like this Arthur-like side of you.”

“I don’t care what you think.”

“Mathieu...”

“Leave me alone.” His voice shook. He couldn’t do this here. “Leave me alone,” he repeated. Leaving the bottle and the glass, Canada elbowed his way around France and made for the door. His heart was pounding in his ears and the liquor that he’d consumed so quickly was making him feel dizzy. He needed to get away from France and the other just wouldn’t let him!

France caught up with him when he wrenched open a random door in the hallway in an attempt to put something between them. France caught him by the arm. “Mathieu, I don’t understand why you’re avoiding me.”

Canada whirled on him. “Really?! You don’t understand why I wouldn’t want to see you when you go from my bed to Arthur’s without even... I don’t know why I thought I would be any different. I’m just another notch on your bloody bedpost!” The liquor sent the room spinning and Canada reached for something, anything, to stabilize him. When his face met the front of France’s shirt he wished he’d just let himself fall.

France was silent, his fingers curling into Canada’s jacket sleeves. “You are going to sit down and drink some water.” Canada could hear the cloth of the bell pull being tugged and France was half-carrying him to a chair. The servant was prompt and the door was soon closed. France’s normal composure was missing from his face. He poured the glass with anger, the water sloshing over the edge as he thrust it at Canada.

“You are not just a notch,” he finally bit out.

“Then what am I?”

“For God’s sake I don’t know.” France dropped down onto the couch across from him. “You’re everything precious to me.”

“You tell such pretty lies.” Canada tipped the water glass back, drinking half of it down. It helped a little, he lay his head backwards, skull clunking against the hard wood of the sofa back.

“It’s not a lie. I have not lied to you about my feelings or my... trepidations.”

“I wanted to fuck someone else tonight. So you could know how it felt,” Canada blurted out.

“Did Gilbert agree?”

“What if he did?”

“I would challenge him.”

“On what grounds? You don’t have any rights over me.”

“Your innocence.”

The laugh that bubbled up Canada’s throat felt bitter. “I don’t have any left. You saw to that. Thoroughly.”

“You have all of it. You don’t know the game, and I pray you never will.” France got up from his seat and perched on the cushion beside Canada. Canada tipped the water glass back up and drained the rest.

“You’re trying to tell me the rules of the game make you sleep with Arthur.”

“I’m not sleeping with Arthur to hurt you.”

“But it hurts me. Every time I think of you two... I wonder if I was just some replacement while you couldn’t have him.”

“Never.”

“Then what?”

France reached out and touched his cheek. Canada looked at him. “You make me happy.”

“Then why do you do something that makes you unhappy?”

“Because that is the way the world works.”

Canada pulled away, trying to stand up to get away from him again. His feet felt unsteady and he dropped back down into the seat. “Don’t make excuses. I don’t want to hear them.”

“I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. I know you won’t believe me, but... you are dearer to me than you know. You always have been. I shouldn’t have...”

“Don’t you dare regret when we were together. I don’t regret it. I regret that I can’t ask for you. I have no power to ask for you. I can’t tell Arthur which means I can’t ask him to stop.” Canada wiped furiously at his damp cheeks. “And I know that I shouldn’t ask you to go against your nature.”

“My nature?”

“That I was never going to be the only one. No matter if I was free to ask it of you.”

“What would you ask me if you were free to?” Canada blinked at him, the room spinning again. He caught the collar of France’s jacket to ground him to the world.

“To be true to me. To only me.” He knew that France couldn’t give him what he wanted. He leaned forward, pressing his face into the crook of France’s neck, wanting to breathe in his scent.

***

France wrapped an arm around his shoulders, sensing that all of the boy’s walls were down. His cheeks were warm with the request, his mind searching for anyone ever asking that of him before. No, there was no moment that he could recall where someone had asked him such a thing. Until Canada.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” Canada mumbled against his cravat.

“For telling me how you feel.” He pressed his nose against his hair, breathing in the scent of him. Mountains and rivers. Not yet overwhelmed by the smell of cities. “Mathieu, I...” He didn’t know what he wanted to say.

Canada backed up, pushing his hands against France’s chest. “You should go back to the party. I’ll... I’ll be fine.” Everything in his face said it wasn’t worth the argument. The blank expression that he took on when he was hiding something was back.

“I will check in on you tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Please, I would like to make sure you are all right.” He stood, tilting Canada’s chin up to look at him.

“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

France searched his face, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. Canada’s eyes fell shut, allowing it. He said nothing as France pulled away and wished him good night.

He went back to the party, his heart no longer in the festivities. He drained a few glasses and allowed Russia entirely too much of his time. It was bliss as the party petered out and he fell asleep on the day bed. He awoke to Germany’s questioning looks and an excuse to escape for the rest of the day.

***

_One week later..._

Canada stopped in his tracks as he walked into the room, the other occupants not noticing in the slightest. France and England were sitting beside each other at the table, bent over the paperwork. It was an innocent enough situation to someone who didn’t know better.

Canada hadn’t meant to see it. It didn’t take much for two that had known each other for so long. An inclination of a head, a hand that lingered a moment too long. Canada turned on his heel and walked back towards his rooms. He couldn’t be here anymore. He had enough to do at home and England clearly had someone he wanted close by for more reasons than that he was helpful. France seemed more than willing to fill that role, regardless of what he promised late at night.

Canada went into his room and wrenched his trunk from its storage, knocking aside the contents of his wardrobe. He didn’t bother to pick them up, nor fold any of the clothing he flung haphazardly into the trunk. He tore apart his room, anger and resentment forestalling any consideration of who would have to clean up the mess.

His valet appeared looking bewildered. “Can I offer some assistance, Mr. Williams?”

“No!” Canada said. “I mean, I’m sorry, but I don’t need assistance.”

“Should I inform Lord Kirkland of your departure?”

“I’m sorry for the trouble, but please don’t do that until I’ve left the palace. Apologize to him on my behalf for missing afternoon tea.”

“What would you have me tell him?”

“I was urgently needed at home. I’ll send him a letter upon my return.”

“Very good, Mr. Williams. I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you.” He gathered up his luggage and started out of the room. “Please call me a carriage.” The man nodded and he didn’t have to wait long before he was on his way to the docks to catch a ship home.

As the coast of England began to recede, Canada felt awash with guilt. He hadn’t said goodbye. To England. To France. He leaned on the railing watching the island recede and hoping that here would be no unexpected stops between there and home. He needed to sort it out. He’d wanted France to make him promises. Hoped that he would.

When he didn’t, that somehow hurt even more.

_What do I do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I promise the drama between them won't last forever!


	4. Come Back To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France and England decide to call it quits. Canada doesn't know what to do when France asks after him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Some England/France in the chapter.

_Fall 1845_

_Paris, France_

It was a scene that France knew well. The lights low, the wine bottle uncorked, anticipation hanging in the air between them. He examined England from his seat next to the fire. His brow was furrowed, thoughts flitting through his mind. It was one of the dangerous moments that France had gotten used to, interrupt the other’s thoughts or leave the silence to stretch. There was risk either way. 

“You look pensive, _mon ami._ ” The sound seemed to startle England, his eyes settling on France’s face.

“Not your friend” England clarified before hesitating “You are acting far more odd than normal, Frog.”

France chuckled. “Perhaps I am considering turning over a new leaf.”

“There is no Holy Roman Empire for you to turn to to betray me anymore,” he said flatly

“Ah, Arthur, you assume my intention was to betray you in the first place. I’d rather hoped we’d moved past all that, especially considering the state of things between us at the moment.” France could almost picture how the night would end. They would get on each other’s nerves until they decided it was no longer beneficial to speak. Not speaking would lead to other things that were beneficial in the short term, but always left him feeling empty. France frowned at the thought. When did the flirtation start feeling so hollow?

“You are being more fake than normal.”

“And you’re being far more thoughtful than normal.” It was an empty jibe, but it would make the night seem common as opposed to odd. “I heard that Alfred offered you some assistance with China, or, as he puts it, he was ‘in the right place at the right time’. Perhaps the boy is following you around.”

“Sod off.” England gestured rudely at him. “You really want to talk politics now?”

There, the night was now on its old course again. “Of course not, there are far better things to do than talk politics. I just assumed that was what was causing you to frown at my fireplace so intensely.”

“I am frowning at the fireplace because of you.”

France raised an eyebrow. He picked up the silver case on the table beside him, carefully rolling a cigarette while he considered England’s statement. “Do elaborate.” He struck a match and light flared across his face before the sharp taste of tobacco filled his mouth and lungs.

“Not that you have ever had sex appeal, but with your manner right now it's practically in the negatives”

“You want me to be sexier for you?” France tried to find enjoyment in the idea, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Don’t even bother.” England’s nose crinkled. “Whatever is the matter with you?”

“Nothing that a distraction can’t fix.” France blew out some smoke. “You could come closer.”

“Your acting has gotten worse.”

France sighed. “My apologies. I suppose I am not feeling very amorous tonight. Not that you aren’t as delightful as usual.”

“It’s been like this for awhile.” England’s response was blunt. “I assumed it was temporary, but that does not appear to be the case.”

“I rather enjoyed our dalliance last winter.” France sighed, tapping his cigarette over the ashtray. “I am not the only one who appears to be changed.”

“Whatever do you mean by that?” England frowned, reaching over to fill his wine glass.

“That we’re a habit, not a pleasure.” France dropped the cigarette. “That I’m not the one you want.”

“And why is this all of a sudden about me?” England arched a brow. “I have other nations to warm my sheets. I believe you are self projecting.”

“Are you reading the psychology papers now?” France said, sighing. “Perhaps I just need proper incentive. Come closer, Arthur.”

England eyed him for a moment before moving off of the chair and walking over to the blue eyed blond. “We actually going to do this, Frog?”

France hooked his fingers into the front of England’s trousers. “Let us forget our melancholies.”

“As you wish.” England tipped the glass back, draining wine and letting it drop to the carpet before sliding onto the others lap, pulling the Frenchman into a kiss by his hair. He tasted of the same wine he had just been drinking, tinged with the ever familiar taste of tobacco.

It was hard not to feel a rush of energy, they’d been doing this so long they could play each other like fine instruments. It was hardly the first trembling kiss they’d shared hundreds of years ago in a barn. It had taken longer then, leather straps loosening to drop armor onto the hay. It had been a discovery back then. Now it was like drinking cognac, the burn was predictable, but still nice to sample now and again. His thoughts disappeared as England grew impatient and pushed him down onto the carpet before the fire.

England wasn’t going to bother with their shirts for now, their trousers would be enough. His fingers found the buttons at the front of France’s hips and popped them open with ease before finding his own. His mouth making quick work of France’s neck, yanking down the other’s trousers down his hips. “Top or bottom, Francis?”

“Your choice.” Either would provide the distraction he craved.

“You are already on your back.” England murmured, yanking France’s trousers off completely and tossing them to the side before shimmying out of his own. “Are you just going to lay there like a limp fish?”

“That sounds like a challenge.” He dug his fingers into England’s hips, yanking him closer.

“Well, then I shall expect you to fall short of it then like normal.” England snorted, snatching the bottle of oil from the table. With long fingers, oil and experience it didn’t take long until French expletives were spilling out from the man beneath him. Slick fingers grabbed the crook of France’s knees and their mutual curses of relief split the air.

Spent. That was how he felt in the aftermath. England was off the floor soon enough, shirttail just covering his backside as he grabbed the cigarette case and the bottle of wine. He settled back on the floor leaning up against the chair as France continued to lay languidly against the expensive carpet. He looked up at the ceiling, body still humming with release. There was no chance of England coming back to his side, that had ended long ago. France rolled onto his side, leaning on his elbow to hold out a hand for the wine bottle.

“You've lost your touch, Francis." He took a drink and handed it to him.

“That is not what your body was telling me.” France took a long swallow of the wine. “Or is it you’ve found some lover to replace me in your ardor and this was a courtesy to your dear ally and current benefactor?” In the past, the idea would have bothered him. He took another drink of the wine to cover the fact that it no longer did. The sudden memory of sweet words whispered in his own tongue, a tongue that he had taught the young nation himself, made him feel guilty. They would need another bottle of wine.

“And if it was?”

France lay back down on his back. “Was it?”

“I think it should be.”

France turned his head to look at him. England was looking at the fire again, smoke curling up from the cigarette in his fingers. “That may be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to me. Such a sentiment would have upset me once upon a time.” He stretched his arms above his head. “It begs the question though, who?”

“Who what?” England frowned. “Your nosy self knows exactly who I'm sleeping with.”

“Yes, and I would bet a small fortune that they are just courtesy, too.”

“As everyone has been? Are you sore because you thought you were special, Francis?” England motioned for the bottle. He had tossed the cigarette case. France could see that it hadn’t been good enough. Just enough to scratch an itch.

“A long time ago, perhaps.” He ran a hand through his hair and handed the bottle back to England. “Who would not be a courtesy?” A face floated into his own mind and he pushed it away, he shouldn’t be thinking of a certain North American while he was still half-naked with someone else.

“No one for me... although from your expression you are thinking of someone.”

“The idea of someone. It makes me want to take up poetry again.” He looked at England. “And you’re _un menteur._ ”

“Excuse me?” England frowned.

“While I normally admire your skill at lying, you’re untruth in the matter of no one is bald. Although...” The desire to push overwhelmed any sense. “Does this mean that young _Amerique_ still hasn’t gotten on his back for you? I was so certain at your queen’s coronation...”

“Francis!” England shouted and chucked the bottle at him. “Don’t be absurd! How crude!”

His arm flew up and blocked the bottle from striking his face just in time. He winced regardless, the bottle had thunked hard against his arm. He sat up. “He is the elephant in the room and not just because of his oversized personality.” He rubbed at the spot on his arm.

“Why would you bring him up now!? It is not I who was distracted earlier! If anybody should be scrutinized I say it should be you!”

“I am an open book, _mon ami._ ” France said, getting up to get a fresh bottle of wine. He brandished the silver corkscrew in England’s direction before thrusting it into the mouth of the bottle.

“Yes, the open fact you had little to no interest in tonight.” England scowled crossing his arms.

“A black mark on my record if there ever was one. Do not doubt your quality, you’re much better now than our first time.” The cork came out of the bottle with a pop and France took a healthy swig. It was a sweet batch, too sweet. “I’m afraid I have been distracted.”

“Hand it over.” England gestured for the bottle, favoring to ignore his jibe. “And why pray tell have you been distracted?”

“ _Ennui_ , is it not obvious? It’s reason, however, I am not able to say.”

“Don’t tell me,” England snorted, “That you believe that you have fallen for someone?”

“Why do you find that so hard to believe?” France quickly handed over the bottle. _In vino veritas..._ the truth couldn’t reach England’s ears. If he had any hope of mending things with Canada, England couldn’t be the one to know first.

“You of all people? Falling in love?” England shook his head

“I am the country of love. I know all about it,” France replied, dropping into the chair gingerly. England could complain all he liked, he’d certainly been acting with fervor earlier. “You may be incapable of the emotion, but it does not escape all of us.”

“Some of us don’t have the time.” England sniffed, crossing his legs and taking a another long drink from the bottle.

“So you’ll be the empire on which the sun never sets all alone? That’s sad, Arthur.”

“That is my business, Frog,” he hissed.

“Then I suppose the fact that I am in love is not your business either. We are in agreement for once.”

“Then I suggest we cease this relations until further notice.” England sniffed. “I won't settle for subpar in my bed.”

France wanted to feel offense rise in his chest, but instead it was only relief. Their relationship had been going south for the better part of the century, perhaps this was for the better. He would be free to love another, to not feel the obligation to play the game. “I hope you won’t, Arthur.”

“Fuck off, Francis.”

France laughed. For the first time that night, things felt like normal.

***

_Summer 1851_

_London, England_

_The London Exhibition_

Canada straightened the picture hanging in his exhibit. Granted, his space wasn’t one of the largest of the empire - India had received that honor - but he was still proud of what he’d been able to pull together to show off. It was nice to hear people talking about him and his people’s accomplishments. He felt happy.

“Mathieu, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He turned to see France, his spirits dropping considerably. He’d been happy at least. No, that wasn’t the right thought. He’d wanted to talk to France, but it felt awkward. Not when he was likely spending his nights with England. He’d spent more time than he cared to admit in the French section of the exhibition admiring some of France’s inventions.

“You’ve found me,” Canada replied.

“I was wondering if you would walk with me.”

“I don’t really have any desire to do that, Francis.”

Canada wondered if he’d imagined the hurt that spread across France’s face. It was covered up by his charming smile that he wore like a shield. “I see. Well, I hope you will be attending the dinner that Antonio has gotten together?”

“I wasn’t aware that anything like that was happening.” Canada frowned. The other nations must have forgotten about him being there again.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind setting another place. You could accompany me.”

“I-” He didn’t have a desire to do such a thing, but another thought stopped his reflex denial. There was no other way for him to get into such a dinner or be noticed on his own. But with France he would at least be guaranteed a seat. “If you’d like.”

France smiled at him. “It’s a small affair in Antonio’s rooms, I’ll come by your quarters at seven.”

“You are staying in the palace? I’m in Arthur’s wings, but I haven't seen you.” Canada frowned, fingers twitching in a small bout of anger.

“I am in the guest wing with everyone else. Coming and going between the Continent and here.”

“That... I am surprised.” He was. Francis usually stayed in Arthur’s personal quarters.

“Ah, well, _mon petit._ I am full of surprises still. I will see you this evening? Unless you’ve changed your mind and will walk with me.”

“I am not your little one Francis... you lost that privilege when you gave me to Arthur,” Canada said quietly. “But yes... I will walk with you.”

“I’m sure Arthur has shown you all the highlights of the park outside, perhaps you could share them with me?” France held out a hand, offering for Canada to take the lead.

“So you needed a guide is it?” Canada joined the throng of people as Francis joined at his elbow.

“Not just any guide.” France smiled at him.

“Surely Arthur or Alfred would have been better?”

“They are not nearly so pleasant as company. I wanted your opinions on Arthur’s grandiose statement of his own power and reach.” France gestured at the building around them.

“You wanted to know if I agree?” Canada glanced at him.

“If that’s how you really feel.”

“Well, yes, of course." Canada ran his hands through his hair and gathered it back into a leather strip.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, looking at the wonders that were on display. France’s hand landed in the small of Canada’s back as he directed him towards one of the doors that led outside. “I want to get some air.”

Canada tensed. He knew he should brush France’s hand away, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was something that he had been craving for far too long. He took a deep breath. “All right.”

France smiled at him, fingers falling away as they moved away from the crowd. “I always thought you looked better in the sunlight.”

Canada cursed his pale skin, it turned red so easily. He could feel his cheeks warm. He hoped that he could blame it on the sunlight. He burned easily, too. “What did you want to see?”

“Nothing in particular. Perhaps the flowers in the park?” France suggested.

“Arthur did say the rose garden was in full bloom.” He moved to the right. France followed behind him.

“What flowers have you grown at your houses? It has been so long since I have been there,” France said, making a delighted sound at the blooms and reaching over to touch the petals of a white one.

“Oh you know... white trillium... ladyslipper... dogwood... it depends really.” Canada shrugged one shoulder.

“Depends on what?” France asked, his shoulder brushing against Canada’s as he walked to another row of blooms.

“Which house in which province.”

“Which is your favorite?” France asked.

“The maple leaf.” He rubbed his forearm. France plucked a petal from one of the roses, holding it between two fingers.

“I remember. You used to like playing in the fall leaves.”

“Odd thing to remember.”

“It made me happy to remember.” France was still looking at the flowers, his brow slightly furrowed. The crowds around them were thin, most coming and going.

“Did you... are you sure Arthur won’t be looking for you?” The taste was bitter in his mouth.

“Arthur... did he never tell you?” France turned to look at him. He ran a hand through his hair. “We are... well, I suppose to put it indelicately, finished with one another. It’s been that way for several years now.”

“Who...” Canada stared at him “Wha-who ended it?” he blurted.

“As Arthur lacks any semblance of class... he brought up the topic. I agreed with him. Things have changed too much. His feelings lie elsewhere. So do mine.”

Canada looked away. Judging by how England and America had been acting around one another he was sure where England’s were moving, even if he wouldn’t admit to them. But to find out that France had feelings for another was not something that he wanted to hear. It wasn’t fair. He swallowed. “Oh.”

“Oh? That doesn’t make you happy?” France’s face grew worried.

“Well, I hope it works out," he muttered. What else was he supposed to say?

“Matheiu, I...” France stepped forward, curling his fingers against his sleeve. He let his hand drop again, when a man and a woman rounded the rose bushes at the end of their small path. “Perhaps we could speak more on this tonight?”

“I don't think there is anything for us to talk about. Those relations are your own.” He shook his head.

“I think you’ve mistaken my meaning,” France began, “I...”

“Francis! There you are, _mi amigo_!” Spain came around the corner. The Spaniard barely noticed Canada as he walked up to France and kissed him on the cheek. “You said you would find time this afternoon to discuss trade agreements. I’ve been abandoned, so...”

“Of course! Time has gotten away from me. I will meet you inside?”

Spain shot him a smile. “Don’t keep me waiting too long. You know what happens if you keep me waiting.”

“I know too well,” France replied. They shared a laugh and Spain began to make his way back up the lane. “My apologies for the interruption,” he said to Canada.

“Oh don't worry about me," Canada said tightly. “Just go back to Antonio. I'm heading back to the palace for a lie down." He stepped away from France.

Concern crossed France’s face. “Are you feeling unwell? I can accompany you.”

“No, I'm fine. Dont break off your time with Antonio." He shook his head. “Have a good day." Turning away from the other Canada slipped into the crowd of people that exited the doors. Thank goodness nobody ever saw him.

***

France felt distracted all throughout his meeting. He was grateful when they put the papers away and departed to dress for dinner. As he checked over his appearance in the mirror, a niggle of doubt crept in at the edges. He’d been expecting a much happier reaction the news that he and England had gone their separate ways. Instead, Canada had pulled away. _Perhaps a more direct approach?_ he thought, considering how best to go about it.

As he walked through his rooms towards the door, he plucked up a bloom from amongst the flowers arranged in a vase near the door. Perfect.

***

Canada tapped the end of the scissors on the the face of his dressing table,staring at his reflection in the vanity. He had grown his hair out of admiration that he eventually realized was more that just admiration.But it seemed liked it was for naught. The idea had caught him by surprise. He should cut it off. All of it. Even shorter than Americas. Grabbing a chunk of his hair he took a breath and the snip echoed in the room. Tiny little ends drifted to the carpet. Not even half an inch. He took a deep breath. All or nothing.

The knocking at the door startled him, the scissors dropping to the table’s surface with a clunk. The knock came again when he didn’t immediately respond. “Mathieu? It’s six o’clock.” France’s voice sounded muffled through the door to his rooms.

“J-just a moment.” Canada stood up his hands brushing the scissors before heading towards the door. Opening up the door he peered at the other quietly. “Um, ready.”

France stared at him for a moment. “What have you done?”

“What?” he frowned.

France stepped into Canada’s space, reaching up to touch his hair. “You cannot go out like this.”

“Why not?”

France sighed and ushered him back into the room. “I hope you didn’t let Arthur do this. I’ll fix it.” He herded Canada back into his dressing room and sat him down in a chair. He raised his eyebrow at the hair Canada never cleared away from the table and floor, but didn’t say anything.

“It’s a few centimeters, it’s not even noticeable!”

“I noticed. Don’t worry, it won’t take long to even out.” France ran his fingers over his hair, measuring the strands.

“Just... just take it all off," he said quietly.

France fingers stilled and he tried to catch Canada’s eyes in the mirror. When he wouldn’t look at him, France circled around the chair and knelt down. They weren’t eye level, he was now looking up at him. “Why would you want to cut off your beautiful hair?”

“Because I don't like it this way anymore,” he muttered, avoiding Francis's gaze.

France let one of Canada’s curls wrap around his finger. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He nodded. France leaned up and kissed the top of Canada’s head.

“I will miss it, but I’ll help if that’s what you want. I can’t let you look too much like your brothers after all, so unfashionable.”

“That's fine.” He nodded slowly. France pulled away, fingertips brushing against his cheek. He picked up the scissors and set to work. Blond hair that had nearly been to Canada’s shoulders now curled around his jaw. Canada watched him through the reflection of the glass. He was tempted to tell France to cut it all off. Short as possible.

“Francis...”

“Hmmm?” France was looking at him in the mirror, fingers tugging on the strands at the front to make sure they were even.

“Perhaps... all of it... maybe like... Arthur’s?”

“Why on earth would you want to look like Arthur? You are far better looking.” France stepped around him to lean against the dressing table. “What is bothering you?”

“I just don't like looking at it anymore,” he muttered and looked away.

“Even if I cut it short it won’t change what’s upset you.”

“No, but it’s a start.”

“A start to what?”

“To getting some stuff sorted,” he murmured.

France reached out and curled his fingers under Canada’s chin. “If you’re sure.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what, Mathieu?”

Emotions chased each other across Canada’s face, then he looked down at his hands folded in his lap. “Forget it. Let's go." He looked away.

France sighed. “I wish you would tell me, but I suppose we don’t want to keep our host waiting. And Roderich will complain if we don’t eat on time.”

Canada pulled back and got to his feet. “Well, lead the way.”

***

France watched him all through dinner. Canada had made a point to sit further down the table, listening to Italy Romano who was no doubt complaining. France, on the other hand, was seated between Spain and Austria. “Hmmm?” France said, Spain’s voice sounding again in his ear.

“What has you so distracted, _mi amigo_?” Spain glanced down the table, sighing. “I should have made him sit by me.”

“You certainly wouldn’t be talking to me,” France teased.

“No, my Romano would keep me very well occupied.” Austria huffed on France’s other side. “Oh, my dear Roderich, if Elizabeta were here it would be the same.”

“But who would that leave you with, Francis? Arthur seems rather occupied.”

France waved a hand. “That is over.”

“You have said that before.”

“It’s true this time.”

“Then who?”

France smiled at him. “That is a secret.”

***

Canada pushed around the food on his plate, not really having the desire to eat. He wasn't sure what he was doing here. A colony at a table of nations. What was one supposed to do with that?

“What was your name again?” Romano asked. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you.”

Canada sighed. “It’s Matthew. I’m Canada.”

“Never heard of you.” Romano leaned back in his chair, frowning at the other end of the table. “That bastard,” he muttered.

“I'm one of Arthur's colonies." He sighed and glanced down the table.

“You and half the world. I used to belong to that asshole.” He gestured to Spain. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

“I don't really want to know," Canada said tightly. He had half an idea.

“As long as it doesn’t involve getting up early tomorrow.” He pulled a bottle towards them. “Here have some rum. If we’ve got to sit through this until they’re done chatting I need more booze.” He took Canada’s glass and poured a double shot.

Canada took the glass with a small smile. He had a much higher alcohol tolerance than Alfred, and certainly more than Arthur. It was something he was rather proud of. Swirling the glass a bit he tilted it back with a swift motion before looking at Romano and gesturing for more. “Please.”

Pouring another shot, Romano knocked back his own. “It’s annoying when they’re early risers.” The liquor splashed into the glass again.

“I guess... I can really do whatever.” Canada shrugged and grabbed the bottle to pour his own.

“At least I can usually get him back for _siesta._ Not that I care, but I’ve heard stories about Francis. Are they true?” Romano stabbed his fork into the tomatoes on his plate and took a large bite.

“What rumors?” Canada hesitated to ask. He favored his glass.

“They span the gamut. Is he as good as they say?”

“I wouldn't know." _Better, he can almost make you believe he cares about more than..._ Canada poured another cup, much higher this time. Cheeks flushed with spirits and embarrassment.

“I guess I just figured since you came in with him.” Romano tipped back another glass. He eyed him. “You’re young aren’t you?”

Canada heaved a sigh, warmth settling over his limbs. “You have probably met my twin brother, Alfred.”

“He’s useful, although he is almost as annoying as my brother.”

Canada grinned. “Feliciano is an interesting man.”

“Not a whole lot between the ears if you ask me,” Romano gruffed. “Of course, he gets everything and all the acknowledgement.”

“Isn't that the norm with brothers, though?” Canada drained his glass only to find Romano filling it for him. The room was rather warm

The dinner continued on. The dessert course following with even sweeter alcohol. Several individuals moved on to other evening activities, but just as many lingered around the table. Romano sat up straight abruptly. “I’m bored. That bastard Antonio better get ready to kick everyone out.” Romano attempted to punch Canada playfully in the shoulder but missed. “Want to see how I’m going to make that happen?”

“S-Sure." Canada nodded slowly, his mind moving slowly as he processed the brunette’s words. Maybe he had had a tad much.

Romano got shakily to his feet which drew Spain’s eyes to him immediately. He made his way around the table until he leaned heavily on the back of Spain’s chair. He began whispering in the elder nation’s ear, Spain’s face changing from his good-natured socializing to something possessive. When he tried to touch Romano the other pulled away.

“Ah, so the rumours are true,” Canada murmured with a small hiccup. He found that he was jealous of the Italian man. At least there was no web of lies between them. Although how Romano was fine with allowing Spain to hop multiple beds was beyond him. Although, he supposed it was the norm with the European nations, at least.

“ _Gracías_ , _mi amigos_ for coming to my party, but I’m afraid I must call the night to an end,” Spain announced. Romano hovered behind him as everyone came to bid him good night.

“Are you ready, _mon petit?_ ” France asked, stepping up to Canada’s side. Canada blinked at him slowly, surprised to see France there. Hadn’t he just been over there by Spain?

“Uh...um, yes?” His brain was taking awhile to catch up.

France caught him by the arm when Canada wobbled dangerously. He pulled him close to his side so he could lean on him. “Perhaps drinking with someone who predates you by a few centuries was not the wisest choice.” France helped lead him into the hallway and back towards his rooms.

“You no longer have the right to scold me. You lost that.” The liquor made his tongue free.

France was quiet for a moment. “One of my many regrets,” he said.

“With them they think on? Things without all remedy Should be without regard: what's done, is done,” he drawled

“Arthur seems to be overly fond of that play.” He stopped outside Canada’s door. “Which are you? Lord or Lady Macbeth?”

“I’d have to say the Lady.”

“Then I am the man filled with regret?” France leaned against the door, his fingers still lightly on Canada’s sleeve.

“You're the one who said it not I.”

“The line in question was when Macbeth was trying to decide to change course, no? There are things I want to fix.” He reached up, touching Canada’s hair softly. “I’m sorry.”

Canada brushed his hand away. “I am tired of hearing you say that. You were in a bad place when we... I was... I don’t know... available... and...” France brushed his fingers across his cheek and Canada forgot his train of thought.

“I’m tired of apologizing as well, but... I’ve realized so many things in these past decades. I left my heart across the Atlantic... with you.”

Canada stared at him before chuckling, the rum making the idea seem for amusing than it normally would have. His heart? “Arthur is just up in his wing you know. Not visiting my house.”

“Arthur is...” France shook his head. “We’ll have this conversation later when you’re sober. There are things I want to say and I need you to remember.”

“There is no conversation to be had from where I am standing.” Canada shook his head as they got to his door and he pushed it open. “Do not speak to me as if I am a drunk. I am not. Just warm.”

France maneuvered him so that he could get them through the door. “Half a bottle of Antonio’s rum would lay most nations under the table.” He helped Canada get to the sitting couch. “If you are angry at me, I would like to hear it.”

“When have I ever said that I was angry?” He leaned back against the couch with a sigh, toeing his boots off.

“Fine, distant. You’ve been distant.”

“Perhaps you have just been busy.”

“I...” France took a seat in one of the chairs opposite. “In all honesty, it was difficult to see you.”

“Of course.” Canada shook his head and he popped the buttons of his collar. It was far too warm.

“Arthur and I... we fell into old habits. I wasn’t lying earlier when I said we were finished for good, I think.”

“You think? Good to know.” He shrugged out of his shirt with a sigh. “Francis, I am tired.” This was beginning to upset him. The liquor clouding his judgement.

“I want you to be with me.”

“I am with you right now.” Canada sighed, pushing off the sofa. “Although I am about to be with my bed. I am tired”

France sighed. “That might be for the best. We can talk in the morning.”

“I am going out riding with Arthur in the morning,” he said quickly, falling still.

“Oh,” France rubbed at the back of his neck. He regained his composure. “Luncheon, perhaps?”

“I already have plans.”

“Mathieu, please hear me out.” He crossed the room to where Canada was wobbling, his hand gripping the doorknob to his bedroom. “I was weak when you asked me and I took. You’ve been a bright spot and I hate that I’ve dimmed that. I want another chance.”

“I... why?" Canada shook his head. _You could have anyone... you couldn’t possibly want me._

“Because I care about you. I want to make you happy.” France’s face was vulnerable, Canada had never seen him look like this. “You changed things for me.”

“And you hurt me.”

“I know. I want to mend it.”

“I... how can I trust you?”

“Because I haven’t broken my word to you when I’ve given it.”

“I... I don’t... Francis." He shook his head in uncertainty. But he was unable to pull away.

“You don’t what?”

“Fine," he breathed.

Hope flared in France’s face. “Fine?”

“I don't know what you think your going to do but... I will let you try.”

“Thank you,” France stepped forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Canada's hands automatically found their way to the edges of Frances sleeves and he looked away. “I suppose I’ll leave you so you can get some rest.”

“I-" Shit, he knew that if he caved an inch he would want to take a mile. “Yes... good night." He couldn't let go.

“Good night.” France made no move to back away, his fingers hooking in Canada’s sleeves in turn.

“Francis... what... what do you want from me?” He hated the question.

“Nothing you don’t want to give. I’ll go. Sleep well.” He began to pull away. Canada’s fingers tightened.

“Wait.” France’s eyes widened, Canada could see the hope in them. “Stay with me.” Canada pinked. “There’s a daybed you can sleep on. I just... don’t go yet.”

France nodded and did as he was asked.

***

Even though he’d insisted that he hadn’t had that much last night, the pounding behind his eyes as the light snuck through his window betrayed his statement. He felt groggy and leaned over to his bedside table, grabbing blindly for the glass of water he always kept there. He drained it, instantly feeling better than he had. He picked up his glasses and pushed them onto his nose. Sliding out from beneath the blankets, he pulled on the cord to summon a servant and walked into the sitting room, intent on finding a book he’d left there yesterday.

He jumped, coming around the corner and seeing a body sleeping on the day couch. Right. He’d asked France to stay. Biting his lip, he walked around the far edge of the room like France was some exotic creature that he wasn’t sure about. He was reminded of a long time ago, when he hadn’t been so sure about France. It was far different than that now.

France was laying on his side, a pillow wrapped up in his arms and blond hair laying haphazardly across the cushion. Shockingly, he hadn’t undressed, creases formed all throughout his fine clothes. Canada leaned on the back of one of the chairs, he couldn’t help but watch him as he slept. He could believe that France hadn’t meant to hurt him when he was like this, that he wasn’t clever enough to have survived for so long amongst the other power hungry nations of the world, that he’d been on top of that world once. When he was sleeping, he could be the person he loved. Wait. Had loved. Canada forced himself to think about it in the past tense. France was offering to be in his bed. He wouldn’t fall in love this time.

Carefully, he stepped around the chair and crossed the space towards where France slept. He settled onto the floor, leaning on the cushion next to France, listening to him breathe. He wanted to give him a chance. “You told me a long time ago to guard my heart. I didn’t listen then...” he whispered, France not stirring in his sleep. “Don’t hurt me again...” He reached up, running his fingers through France’s hair, memories floating to the surface. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward.

France’s mouth was warm against his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long everyone! There was a lot of work put into the main story in the Collision of Worlds series and I ended up moving again (lived in 3 states this year alone ><). I'm hoping to wrap this one up soon so that I can work on the side story of these two during World War I - they were definitely able to spend more time together than England and America. 
> 
> If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave me a comment or a kudo.


	5. Broken in Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discoveries are made and Canada can't decide where he stands.

_Spring 1855_

_Montreal, Quebec, Canada_

The birds were singing and despite the light intruding the curtains, Canada was perfectly warm. He pushed his face into the pillow, sighing in comfort. It jostled France who was using the small of his back as a pillow. He made a sleepy sound in protest. It was easy to be with him when confined to themselves, it was too easy to feel lost in a dream. France’s lips were warm along his spine as he began to wake up, pressing kisses up his back until he was burying his nose in Canada’s hair.

“You always smell so good,” France said.

“I smell like you right now.”

“Maybe that’s it.” His teeth grazed the skin at the back of Canada’s neck and warmth danced across his skin. Rolling over, he pulled France down into a kiss. He tasted like sleep, adding to the languid feeling of the morning. Wrapping his arms around France’s neck, Canada trapped him with his limbs. _Stay here with me..._

France pressed into him, his fingers sliding up Canada’s thigh and pressing into the soft skin of his hip. Canada wrapped his fingers up in France’s soft hair, fingers tightening. France groaned against his mouth. “You don’t have to leave,” Canada said, his words breathy, a whisper against France’s lips.

“What made you think I was going anywhere?” France leaned, pushing Canada against the blankets.

“You have things to do... the war in Crimea... Arthur’s there. Whatever it is your emperor is doing in Italy.” He gasped as France lay a hand on his belly, fingers slipping lower. He bit his lower lip.

“I don’t care.”

“Bullshit.” Arching backwards as France moved his fingers, Canada gripped at his back. “You care.”

“You’re right,” France said, a sound of pleasure escaping him as Canada gripped his hips, drawing him closer. “But all work and no play...”

Canada’s retort died on his lips as France’s fingers moved lower and sparks began to shoot up his spine. He let himself be lost to the feeling, ears full of the sound of their lovemaking. It was like a dream. The way their bodies moved together as if they were made for one another. Warm endearments in a tongue they both shared, words that spoke of what they wanted, sounds that said what they couldn’t. It was sweet dream.

A stolen dream.

It wasn’t until after the sweat was cooling on his skin that guilt curled in his stomach. England was on a battlefield on the other side of the world and he had no idea. No idea that his ally was in his colony’s bed. It felt uncomfortably like a betrayal. He took a shaky breath, putting a hand over his face.

“Do not be shy.” France reached up and put his hand gently on his wrist, pulling his hand away. Canada wrapped an arm around France’s shoulders, turning his face toward him. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s just... you’ve been here for a week and it feels... don’t you feel like we’re cheating?”

France’s brow furrowed. “On whom?”

“I don’t know, the world? We have responsibilities.” Canada smoothed France’s damp hair off his forehead. “What if you are missing something important?”

“Than that is my trouble, my darling, not yours.”

“It feels like mine. What if Arthur needed you and you’re here instead of at war where you belong?”

France’s palm was warm over his chest. He wondered if France was feeling for his heartbeat. “He is tougher than you think. He’s likely happier that I am not there. Besides, he thinks I am in Paris.”

“Doing what?”

“Trade agreements and other bland governmental work that goes on even when we are at war. He does the same. I want to say I hope you’ll never understand, but... I don’t think that’s possible.” France touched his face, fingers soft as if he was a delicate glass construction, push too hard and it would shatter. Canada pushed away his hand.

“You lied.”

“You want me to tell him the truth?”

Canada leaned forward, burying his face against France’s neck. “No.” France held him, letting the silence stretch between them. He could hear the ticking of the clock, out of sync with France’s pulse. England couldn’t know. He’d be furious. Canada thought he could weather that part, but not the disappointment that would follow. If he never trusted him again. That was something he couldn’t bear. But he also couldn’t bear to let go of France. _We can’t have everything we want, can we?_

“Do you want to get cleaned up? I’ll make you breakfast.”

“It’ll take time to warm water for a bath.”

“Then we can make breakfast together while it’s readied.”

“Wait, just a little longer.” France nodded, his chin brushing against the top of Canada’s head as he moved. He held him, his arm heavy across Canada’s body. Canada lay a hand on his chest, fingers tickled by the wiry hairs. He breathed in the smell of him. Countryside, wine, the sharper smell of the cities. It brought up memories of feeling wanted, but as he grew older... being left behind. He pulled back. “I’ll get that kettle started.” He escaped France’s grasp and began searching for his clothes. They smelled musty from the floor as he pulled them on, cheeks pinking at the realization he hadn’t been fully dressed since France arrived.

“Mathieu...”

“I have to go out to the well. I’ll be right back. You know where the kitchen is.” He could hear France’s stony silence and wanted to kick himself for it. He went down the stairs quickly, nearly tripping over the white bear at the bottom. He blinked at it for a moment and the animal looked back. When had it moved in again? He shook his head and continued heading for the door. He could hear France upstairs, he couldn’t puzzle out when a small polar bear moved into his house while his lover was getting up.

Lover. Was that what France was? When France had first reached for him nearly half a century ago, he’d cradled that word in his chest throughout their entire time in that little cabin. They’d healed each other’s internal wounds, careful of their external ones. Then, it had fallen apart in the snow when France left him to continue his fight with England. Now he wasn’t fighting him, but they were going to be spending countless hours on the battlefield. Together. England could figure it out! He paused at the crank of the well, letting the cold settle onto his skin. A cardinal landed on the edge of the wood, the bright feathers shocking him out of his thoughts. England’s colors. He looked back at the house. If he left now, France wouldn’t be able to follow. These were his lands, if he really wanted to disappear...

“Matt! Are you out here?”

A curse slipped out of Canada’s lips. “Alfred!? What are you doing here?”

His brother appeared around the edge of the house, coming toward him. Canada threw another glance back at the house. _Stay inside. Don’t come out._ “I just got back from my trip to Japan. I’m doing something about how long it takes to go around South America. Not sure how yet, but it’s gonna happen. I wonder if it would have been faster to just go around the other way.” America paused. “I sent a telegram as soon as I got to New York. That’s another thing I need to do something about. I need a railroad that goes from east to west.”

“I, uh, haven’t been reading my mail.”

“Probably a good call. I should try that.” America tilted his head and examined him. “Why are you acting like you’re hiding something. Arthur’s not planning to declare war on me or something, right?”

He grinned, clearly pleased with his joke, but when Canada didn’t answer his expression began to slide into genuine worry. “No, Alfred. Arthur’s not planning to declare war on you. Why would he?”

“Because... well, nevermind. Let’s go inside. I’m hungry.”

“No, we can’t go in there.”

America looked at him like he was losing his mind. “It’s your house and you always have food.” America squinted, one eye falling shut as a hand came to his forehead. Another one of his headaches. “What are you hiding from me?”

“Alfred, don’t be paranoid.”

“You...” The word slurred and he wobbled, catching himself on the edge of the well.

“Alfred?”

America squeezed his eyes shut, sitting down on the edge of the well. “It’ll pass. My people have been upset at each other, pulling me in lots of different directions.” Canada sat down next to him, looking into his face. He’d been acting this way for several years. “I’m probably just hungry. C’mon.”

He stood up and was pulling open the door before Canada could catch up, completely forgetting about the water bucket. “Alfred, stop--”

“Francis?” America said. Canada flinched, catching up with his brother and praying that France had put something on. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Russia? I’ve been getting letters from Arthur.”

Coming through the door, Canada could see that France had pulled on his pajamas, one of Canada’s robes around his shoulders and tied at the waist. He glanced at Canada, but smiled at America regardless. “I had other business to attend to.”

“With Matt?” America looked between them and Canada felt the flush turn his face hot as America’s eyebrows raised. “Oh.” America’s face turned pink at the realization. “You two, uh...”

“Don’t tell Arthur,” Canada whispered, stepping close and grasping America by the arm. America looked at him.

“I’m not even talking to Arthur right now... when would I get the chance to tell him, even if I was going to. I’ll keep your secret, Matt,” he said, glancing at France. “I didn’t mean to burst your bubble.”

“Alfred, would you like something to eat?” France asked. America looked at Canada and he nodded.

“Yeah, I have some things to say.”

“Alfred, don’t...”

“Francis, you break my brother’s heart again and we can’t be friends anymore.”

“Are we friends, Alfred?” France said, adding wood to the stove, the room beginning to warm. “That is news to me.”

“I’m just saying--”

Canada tried to interrupt. “You really don’t have to...”

“You do anything untoward and I’ll kick your ass.”

France turned to go to the cupboard, smiling. “I will protect him.”

“I’m standing right here...” Canada mumbled, but his words didn’t carry. He left them in the kitchen and walked through his house, going back up the stairs to his bedroom. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, fingers tangling in the bed sheets. Footsteps on the stairs, made his fingers clench further. “I thought you were cooking something for America.”

France came over to the bed, sinking down beside him. “America can wait.”

“He doesn’t like waiting. You know that.”

“Ah, but I know things about him that he’s never shared with anyone else. It’s decent leverage to get him to settle down.” France took Canada’s hand in his own. “I meant what I said downstairs. I’ll protect you.”

“I’m not yours to protect,” Canada said, wanting to pull his hand away, but his fingers tightening instead.

“Canada is not, but Mathieu... I want to protect you.”

Looking up at him, Canada released his hand to cup France’s cheeks. He looked into France’s blue eyes, seeking an answer to a question he couldn’t bear to ask. “Does it go both ways?”

“What?”

“Do I get to protect Francis?” Hesitation, that’s what he could see now in France’s eyes. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against him, wanting to banish that thought. “Don’t answer that.”

“Mathieu... _mon chou..._ ”

“ _Non._ ” _Don’t lie to me just to make me happy. I want you to know._ “We should go back downstairs. We promised Alfred breakfast. After he eats I’ll send him off. He’ll just go home.”

“All right.”

“And then I am going to send you home.”

“Mathieu, I can stay for a few days still.”

“I don’t want you to, I have things that I need to do. Things do go on on this side of the world.” France put his hands over his, fingers wrapping around his wrists and sliding down his arms. He tilted his face closer, pressing his mouth against Canada’s. He didn’t respond at first, but his self control didn’t last. He wanted him too much. Worse than any addictive substance he’d ever tried in his few centuries. He gave into the kiss, tasting him, fingers curling against his cheeks. “We can’t,” he gasped, France’s mouth moving from his to his throat. “Alfred is downstairs.”

“No, he isn’t. I asked him to leave.”

“And he went?” Canada grasped France’s hair and pulled his head up.

“I may have bribed him.”

“With what?”

“You know your brother.” Canada sighed and loosened his hold. With America it could be any number of things. France pressed a kiss below his ear, making him shudder and tilt his head. He dropped his down over France’s neck and settled on his chest.

“So you bought me? I don’t need his permission.”

“I bought his discretion and his absence. Don’t think so much, _mon petit._ ” The way France kissed him certainly made it hard to think, especially as he pulled his shirt from his trousers and lay his hands on his skin.

“Thinking... ah!” Canada shuddered, France using his distraction to tip him back onto the bed. He put his hand on the center of France’s chest, fingers tangling in the buttons of his bed clothes. “I think...”

“What?”

“That you better finish what you started.” France grinned down at him. “And then you are going to be catching the train in order to get a boat out of Halifax tonight.” He pulled France down on top of him before he could protest, the other not giving much resistance at all.

As he watched France leave after one last kiss, Canada leaned in the doorway of his house for several minutes, until he couldn’t see the carriage any longer. He ran a hand through his hair, still feeling France’s touch on his skin, the taste of him still in his mouth.

_Burst your bubble._ That was what America had called it. It certainly was burst, the perfect little world they’d existed in was now being touched by the rest of the world. He sighed, wanting to hold onto the warmth as long as he could, before the coldness of doubt would inevitably creep back in.

***

_Summer 1857_

_Dear Francis,_

_As you have no doubt heard, gold has been discovered in Fraser Canyon. I wish Alfred would have told me the mess that comes along with a gold rush. It feels that there are people from everywhere coming into British Columbia everyday hoping to strike it rich. I know that you have asked to see me, but I think we should keep our distance. The attention that is on me right now... I don’t want to risk starting rumors. Please understand and don’t do anything that would create talk. I cannot see you anytime soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Matthew_

_***_

_September 1860_

_Montreal, Canada_

_During Prince Edward’s Visit to North America_

“I must admit I hoped to catch you privately like this as I have some concerns.” England wasn’t smiling, the firelight flickering across his face. Canada couldn’t help but feel a trickle of concern in his chest. England had been pensive the entire trip, worrying about America’s strangeness no doubt.

“Concerns? About what?” _Please let it be questions about America._ The way England was looking at him sent his heart racing.

“Francis.” Canada tried to control his expression by looking down at his cup. “If... I was thinking of going to war with him, to bring him down, I would like you there by my side. To watch, and help. Even, perhaps, the honor of clapping him in irons. To think that a colony would do that to a nation.” The images floated in Canada’s head, a dread settling in his bones. What did England know? Why would he be asking this? They were at peace, weren’t they?

“If you asked me to do it, I would do my duty,” he replied. _Please don’t ask me to that. I remember when you brought me before... I don’t want... I don’t want to have to choose._

“With no conflict whatsoever? I’ve never known you to lie to me, Matthew, so I am glad to know what I am hearing is to be the truth.”

Canada looked up at him, wishing he didn’t feel the tears at the corner of his eyes. “I... I said I would do my duty... but... he’s...” He stood up, turning away, not wanting England to see his face. He would know! Damn it all, he had to suspect now! He went to the fireplace, hoping to cover with the fact the fire was low. He took the poker and jabbed at the logs. “I never said I would desire it.”

He heard England sigh. “Honestly, I did not expect to have to drag this out of you. Are the rumors true?”

Canada stood slowly, rubbing the soot off his hands onto his trousers. There was no going back if he admitted it to England now. He squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe England didn’t know, he was just fishing for information. “Rumors, eh? What did you hear?”

“That you welcomed Francis into your bed.” He felt cold. If only he could faint, let all of the terror at being found out take him down into unconsciousness. He waited, wishing for it to come, but it didn’t. He took one shaky step and then another, hoping his legs would give out, but instead he made it to his chair. He gripped the back of it like a sailor holds onto something that floats. He had to deny it. “I... Who would say something like that?”

“Everyone. The questions I’ve been asked or the things mentioned to me. And you can’t think I am blind. I’ve watched you at court when he is present.” Canada couldn’t bear to meet his gaze. England’s voice had that steely tone that he used with people that were in his line of fire. He knew. Canada’s fingers tightened in the brocade of the chair, the wood creaking.

“He is... he is a special person to me. I... I do spend time with him when we are alone...”

“I see.” Canada felt sick. It was the tone England used to use when he talked about America. Betrayed. It wasn’t meant as one! A speech that had gone through his head more than once in France’s absence came to him.

“I swear to you that I do not betray any confidences or information. Nor does he ever ask if you’re concerned. I’m loyal to you.”

England didn’t move, back straight in his chair, hands folded in his lap. “But the rumors are true.”

Canada’s eyes fell to the carpet. He wanted to say it wasn’t, but England knew. If he lied... it would only make things worse. “I’m sorry...”

“There is no reason to apologize... was this your choice?”

“He never put a hand on me until I asked him to and even then... Francis is not to blame for initiating... I did that.”

“All right.”

The words didn’t make any sense. Canada looked up at him. England was looking at the fireplace, a little furrow between his brow. He was agreeing? What!? “All right?” Maybe he’d simply heard incorrectly.

England turned his head and looked down at him. “Do you think me daft, Matthew? I know for a fact that the minute I tell you to cut off all ties with Francis you will go on sleeping with him behind my back more fervently than you have previously.”

He needed to sit. Keeping his grip on the furniture, he moved around it so that he could settle down into the seat. Did England really think that he couldn’t do as he asked? He drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. “I would try to do as you asked.”

“And do you truly think me cruel enough to do that?” _No. Yes. I don’t know. I don’t think you’d want to, but you certainly thought about it. You must hate me... but no, I guess you wouldn’t._

“No, I just... I know you don’t approve...”

He glanced up at him, only to see England staring hard into his tea cup. “You’re trying to separate from me anyways. So, I don’t think you desire my approval.”

Ah, so that was it. Canada scooted forward in his chair, unfolding his limbs. He considered reaching out, but his arms stubbornly wouldn’t move. “That’s not fair.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t declare independence... you were the one that said I should have more autonomy so that I can better react when threatened. I’m not trying to leave the empire.”

England dragged a hand through his hair and his frown deepened. Canada watched his face. “It’s... it doesn’t matter. At least I’m not being dragged around by rumors and prodded with whispers from other nations anymore. I will be speaking with Francis on my own time.”

Canada plucked at the knees of his trousers. “I’m surprised anyone gossips about me...”

The stare England gave him, made him want to flinch back into his seat. “A colony sleeping with the nation who founded him and is now claimed by the British Empire who famously slept with said nation? Yes, people talk.” Canada flushed. _Well, when you put it like that... it’s not like its the only rumor out there._ A little flash of annoyance went through him.

“I would think the scandal with Alfred...” He put his hand over his mouth. Had he just said that aloud?! “I... not that I listen to gossip.”

“What scandal with your brother?”

“About you... and him.”

The last expression Canada expected to see was humor. “Ah, that is of no concern to me.” England waved his hand as though he could wave it off. _Alfred, he’s not ready._ Not that he was sure his twin was ready at all. He’d been acting strange, well, stranger, lately.

“Truly?”

“That rumor has been around for decades. It’s nothing new.”

“Well, if you don’t have a care for that rumor... why did you pay attention to the other, if I may ask? People were always going to say something... weren’t you two rather notorious? Alfred never really paid much attention, but I... well, I paid attention.”

“I was paying attention because it involved you and Francis.”

Canada laced his fingers together, tugging on his fingertips and unable to sit still. If they were being candid... “Alfred, he told me you suspected during the London Exhibition... why did you wait so long to ask?”

Leaning back in his chair, England’s shoulders slumped. Disappointment. This was the stage Canada had been bracing for. “Because I was hoping that you would come to me and tell me, rather than let me hear it from everyone else. I never forbade any of you from lovers.” England paused. “But when you did not I thought it best to ask or else I feared I would never hear it from your mouth until something detrimental happened.”

His own shoulders slumping, Canada looked down at his hands. He dug his fingernails into his palms. “Until my heart is inevitably broken you mean.”

“I said nothing of the sort!”

Canada sat up, frustration and annoyance beginning to win out. He didn’t want England to know. He didn’t even know how to explain his relationship with France to himself, much less to his guardian. “I’m not as naive as Alfred, you know. I know that falling in love is a bad idea.” _Which is why I am_ not _falling in love with him. I’m_ not.

“At least...” England stopped. “No, I would have to disagree with the statement that falling in love is wrong. But it’s nothing easy.”

_You should tell Alfred that... maybe you could snap him out of whatever it is he is doing._ He tried not to fidget, watching the flickering flames of the fireplace. “Have you ever been in love?”

England didn’t hesitate. “No. I can’t say that I have. And I don’t ever plan to.” Canada glanced at him, surprised.

“Why?”

“I don’t have time for that kind of folly.”

“It’s not really my place to say, but... Alfred won’t hear that. The rumors are...”

“Well, then he can be a man and come speak to me,” England interrupted.

“He probably will.” _He’s braver than I am. Not that I’m in love with Francis._ “We can’t always choose who we love.”

“And that’s why problems happen.” The words haunted him as the night grew longer and England’s departure the next morning grew ever more imminent. He wanted to ask him more questions, so many that were only half formed in his mind. England knew. They didn’t really have to hide anymore, but... He turned to watch England’s face in the dying firelight and saw the sadness there. He felt left behind. Canada didn’t want him to feel that way.

After he bid him good night, he went to his desk, picking up his quill. Francis wasn’t going to do it. He had to.

_My dearest Francis,_

_We can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry._

_With heavy heart,_

_Mathieu_

***

_December 1862_

_Toronto, Canada_

“Get out of my house,” Canada said. He’d had a funny feeling when he walked in the front door and it solidified when he came into his parlor and found America asleep on his sofa. No, not America. This was the strange doppelganger that took his place ever since the war started. The body didn’t move. “Get out!” Canada moved forward, kicking the sofa and sending it skating across the rug a few inches. The momentum woke Confederacy and dumped him onto the floor.

“And here I was just trying to bring a Christmas gift to my dear brother.”

“What do you want?” Canada yanked the sofa back into place and put his hands on his hips as Confederacy picked himself up off the floor, dusting at his brown trousers. He adjusted his glasses. Canada crossed his arms. It was unnerving the way he moved. Even Alfred was only acting like half of himself when he saw him. Like they had split down the middle and didn’t get the entire mannerisms. _He can’t infect me with whatever it is, right?_

“I was hoping that I could have some support.”

“No.”

“You know as well as I do that you have been in both of our camps.”

“Soldiers get paid.”

“And they believe in my cause. Admit it.” Confederacy sat down on the sofa, staring up at Canada with a smile on his face. With how rough the war had been so far, Canada was surprised to see him acting that way. America always looked like he was close to death’s door. _You are sucking the life out of him._

“John, you are clever with your words but that’s not going to win you this war. It won’t kill Alfred.”

“No, but France and England’s armaments will.”

“What?”

“One of France’s nobles has offered me a generous sum of money as part of a marriage contract. Francis said he was coming himself. I figure with a little bit of the right incentive he will hand over much more.”

Canada’s mouth thinned and he glared at him. “Incentive.”

“He asked me to lay with him before. I’m going to say yes now.” Confederacy looked straight at him and Canada wanted to strangle him. He had come here to bait him. It was nasty and he didn’t want to play this game. It wasn’t right and he wanted to be angry, to hurt him back. But America was sick, a sickness that had broken his mind right in half. “It’s not like you would mind. You aren’t seeing each other anymore are you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“He seemed extremely interested in me when I was in Europe this past year.”

“Because you are a freak show,” Canada muttered, not really wanting him to hear.

“Excuse me?” Offense stretched across Confederacy’s face.

_They can’t stop staring at the train wreck you’ve become._ “I have asked you twice to get out of my house. Don’t make me ask a third time.”

“I rather--” Confederacy cringed, gripping his forehead, his glasses clattering to the floor. Canada froze, unsure what was happening. “Matt...” The voice was completely different, more familiar. Canada dropped into a crouch and came closer.

“John?”

“What?” His brother blinked at him, his eyes blue.

“Alfred?” Canada’s eyes widened. It was happening again.

“Where am I?” America asked, blinking at him, hand still on his forehead.

“You are in my house in Toronto.”

“How did I get here?”

Canada bit his lip, the last time he’d tried to tell him, America had blacked out and not come to for several days. His mind couldn’t handle it, at least not at the moment. “Try to remember.”

America squinted. “I can’t.”

“Shhh, it’s all right. We can get you across the river to Buffalo and you can go home.” He looked at the uniform America was wearing. It might send him right back into John’s mindset. “Your clothes are filthy, I’ll lend you some of mine.”

Nodding, America let Canada help him off the sofa and further into the house. He wanted to ask about what Confederacy had implied about France, but he didn’t know how. Not to mention, America probably had no idea what he had been saying.

“You’re being quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Yeah, but more quiet than usual. Silence... it’s too much. Just talk to me Matt.”

“Alfred, I don’t know what to say.”

“Anything. I don’t care. You can vent about Francis to me if you want.”

Canada felt his cheeks pink. “There’s nothing to say about that. Only things that aren’t possible.”

“Tell me the impossible things then,” America asked, as Canada settled him in a chair and went to his wardrobe. He paused, looking back at him and wondering what he could, even should say. Then he started to talk, continuing even after America had fallen asleep. All of the impossible things that could never happen the way they were now.

Not unless he changed.

 

***

 

_January 1863_

_Montreal, Canada_

 

There was someone standing outside his house, someone he recognized. Canada sighed, swinging his leg off his horse and walking up to the door slowly. His horse snuffled in the cold air, warm air fanning out against Canada’s cheek. His heart quickened its beat. What was he doing here? “Francis?” he asked.

The man turned around, face poking out from underneath his wool hat. His eyes widened at Canada’s appearance and he sighed, looking down at his own clothes. He was in the uniform of the Mounties, the red uniform bright even beneath the winter coat over it. France didn’t need to stare. He frowned, beginning to walk around to the side of the house. Footsteps crunched behind him in the snow, the rhythm steady, confident.

The inside of the barn was warm as he led his horse to its stall, hooves heavy on the cobble floor. The door shut behind them, as his other horse poked its head over the stall door, ears flicking at the newcomer. Canada waited for France to speak while he began taking the tack off his horse, the animal shaking its coat as the winter snow was brushed away by his hands. “Why are you here?” he asked, when France didn’t say a word.

“I wanted to see you.”

Canada tried not to let the words affect him. He turned away to take the saddle to its stand. The collar of his uniform dug into his throat as he took a deep breath. “And I told you years ago that we can’t do that. It’s too much.”

“Mathieu.” Canada squeezed his eyes shut.

“Don’t say my name.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t think when you do that. With everything going on...” He took a deep breath and turned around, leveling his eyes on France. “I don’t have the strength to say no to you.”

France leaned against the stall door, the horse snuffling at his clothes. “I didn’t come here to make you break whatever promise you made to Arthur. All I wanted was to see how you were.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. A young nation that is gaining autonomy should be far more pleased with the situation. And no one can be fine when the nation they are closest to has lost his mind.”

“You saw Alfred.”

“No, the other one. It’s somehow worse that it was before.”

“I know.” Canada crossed his arms, turning his gaze away. He couldn’t tell France what was really going on. England had the right to know first. “I’m... I’m going inside.”

He walked past France, leaving the smell of hay and horses behind. He was halfway to the house when he realized that France wasn’t following him. He really was giving him what he asked. Emotion swelled in his chest and he whirled. “For goodness sake! Stop being so fucking noble!” He wished it was louder, harsher, the way his brother could always project when he was angry. Despite that, France appeared in the doorway to the stables, his face tentative, as if Canada himself was a wild animal who may attack at any moment.

“Mathieu...”

“Don’t! I don’t need you to take care of me... I need... I need to forget all of this. It’s too much. Francis...” Canada looked down into the snow that was beginning to drift around his boots. When France’s boots came into his vision, Canada stubbornly stared at the ground. He knew he shouldn’t, but when France’s arms came around him, he flung his own around the older nation. He gripped his coat with his gloved fingers and buried his face into the fabric.

“Hush, _mon chou,_ I am here.”

“Come in the house. Show me what it’s like again.”

“Like what is like?”

“To feel. I’m numb.” France was silent for a moment, but kept an arm wrapped around Canada’s shoulders as he started moving towards the house. Inside, the rooms were cool, the fires dampened while he’d been out. France led him into the parlor, settling him down onto the sitting couch. Canada held fast to his coat sleeve as France began to pull away.

“I’m just going to add wood to the fireplace.” Canada blushed, feeling foolish when he released him. He shrugged out of his winter coat, unbuttoning the throat of his uniform as he watched France shrug out of his own and lean down over the fireplace.

As France placed the logs and added kindling, Canada’s eyes swept over him and want settled deep in his stomach. He was so tired of denying him. Of pushing him away.

The fire lit, France returned, kneeling down on the rug at Canada’s feet so he could look up into his face. His fingers came to Canada’s cheeks as though he could smooth away the dark patches beneath his eyes. Canada dug his fingers into the couch cushion. _I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t._ “I’ll make you some tea.”

“No.” Canada’s fingers settled on France’s shoulders and he leaned forward, catching him in a kiss. France was surprised, but soon melted against his lips. He kissed him back, each touch designed to make him feel better. _No._ Canada dug his feet into the carpet and pushed off the couch, catching France off guard and sending him sprawling onto the floor. He was on top of him in a moment, legs on either side of his hips. “Don’t kiss me like I’m gonna break. I want to feel it.”

France looked at him for a moment, his blue eyes searching. His fingers ran up the front of Canada’s uniform, his skin pink from the cold and pale against the deep red fabric. He hooked his fingers into the buttons and pulled Canada down on top of him. The kiss felt desperate and Canada leaned into the feeling. He wanted to feel every bit of it, from the way France’s fingers moved over his skin to the way a groan bubbled up his throat as he sank his body onto France’s. He could feel him everywhere, inside and out. He clung to France, fingers digging into skin and cloth. The release sent him sprawling against France’s chest, panting for breath. His limbs trembled as he lay his head down on his chest. He felt raw as he reached down to yank his leg out of his trousers, not bothering to get them off before. His shirt felt damp as his uniform hung open. When he leaned back up, he realized France’s clothes were far worse for wear. He felt the apology hanging on his lips, but France put his fingers over his mouth. “I have not been jumped like that in over a century. Let us enjoy the moment.”

Canada was sure his face was bright red as he buried his face in what remained of France’s shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not be sorry.”

“I told you we couldn’t and now...”

“Mathieu, I waited.” Canada pulled back, looking down at him. France made a vision stretched out in the floor in his ripped shirt looking thoroughly debauched. Canada’s cheeks grew even more heated as he looked at him.

“You waited.”

“For you to choose.” France looked away, running a hand through his hair. “I was a little worried there for some time that it would not be me. I would have been most destructive in getting over you.”

“Over me?”

France looked back at him, reaching up to cup Canada’s cheek. “You mean so much to me. More than I ever thought possible. I realize now, that in all those centuries before you existed... I was waiting for you, only I did not know it.”

Canada put his hand over France’s, wrapping his fingers lightly around him. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it, _mon amour._ ”

Canada watched his face for a moment, a long silence stretching between them. He shifted off France and lay down on the rug beside him. “Even when I pull away... know that I always loved you, too.”

“Are you going to pull away now?”

“No, hold me as long as we can get away with.”


	6. Je t'aime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canada is going to war on someone else's lands for the first time. How will he tell France?

_October 1899_

_Paris, France_

 

Canada reached into his pocket and unfolded the paper. He looked at England’s tidy handwriting, the address the only thing written down. He could remember his face when he handed it to him, he was certainly still not happy, but he accepted it. After all, he’d given him permission to come here. _It’s the least I can do_ , England had said, shrugging. It was then that Canada had hugged him, thanking him. England looked much happier after that.

He looked up at the row of townhomes again, checking the address for the third time. He knew he drew a few stares. He’d not originally intended to end up in Paris, so his clothes were decidedly provincial, more English-influenced than French. Canada watched people as he passed them. _Some of the first French settlers came from here..._

The gate of the townhome was open, but an attendant had been eyeing him for the last two minutes. It was his last chance to turn back. Pushing the paper back in his pocket, he stepped forward. “I’m here to see Francis Bonnefoy, he’s not expecting me.”

The man’s brow furrowed for a moment and Canada blushed, realizing belatedly that his French would sound odd to a Parisian. “Who should I say is calling?”

“Matthew Williams.” The man didn’t even smile at him as he turned and walked towards the house, passing on the message to another hired hand inside the door. Canada looked around, taking in the little details that France had added to his Paris home. He rubbed his hands on his coat, trying not to fidget. He’d never been to Paris before. As a child, he always imagined that it was a bigger version of Montreal, and even when he aged, it stuck even though logic said otherwise.

He watched the city street passing just beyond the gate. France had become a republic in the last half a century, the last emperor captured during a war with Germany, Prussia leading the charge. The map of Europe had changed, territories trading hands. The Republic of France. A unified Germany. He heard feet on the stairs and turned back, expecting to see the servant coming back. Perhaps France wasn’t here at all.

Seeing the man standing in the small courtyard with him made his heart start racing in his chest. France was smiling at him, coming toward him with his arms outstretched. Canada stepped into them, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. “Surprise.”

“It is, indeed!” France kissed him on the cheek. “You must come inside and tell me how you managed to talk Arthur into letting you come to Paris!”

Canada followed, wondering how he could possibly explain. After all, France and England were on better terms now, but still arguing over holdings. The issue with the money over the Suez Canal... Canada had worried a little over the rumors of exactly how England and France had come to the agreement they did, but when he heard about America’s frequent visits with England. The world was different in so many ways. Canada grew lost amongst France’s beautiful things as he led him deeper into the house.

“Where is your staff?”

“I sent them home for the day. I said I would send for them should we need anything.”

“So, we are alone?”

France paused when Canada tugged on his hand. He turned to look at him. “Yes.”

Stepping toward him, Canada lay a hand on his chest. “Then why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

France chuckled, his fingers coming up beneath Canada’s chin. “Let me remedy that immediately.” The kiss was soft at first, but Canada pulled him closer. “You’ve grown taller.” France put his hands on Canada’s shoulders.

So many things had changed in the last several decades, the last time he’d seen America they had finally been similar in size for the first time in their lives. He’d always struggled behind him, smaller, thinner. Now his economy had changed. He wasn’t as reliant on rural industries. His cities had grown in size. Gold had been discovered in his own west. The way France’s hands moved over his body through his clothes made him shiver.

His fingers hooked into the buttons on France’s shirt, slowly undoing them one by one. France stopped him, smiling as he took his hand and pulled him upstairs. His bedroom was ornate, but Canada could only focus on the bed. He wanted France in it. He wanted his skin pressed against his own. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed him until that first touch of their lips.

Words weren’t needed, lost between bodies that knew each other well. For a moment, Canada paused, he had things to tell him. Important things, but his body won out. He wanted him and all of the rest of it could wait.

***

“Find a seat, _mon chou,_ I’ll find us a bottle of wine.” Canada sank onto a plush brocade sofa, the fabric a deep blue. They had pulled on robes after they had pulled themselves out of each other’s arms, the quest for food and drink outweighing any desire to remain in the bed.

Looking at the room, he wondered what France portrayed himself as now, not a noble anymore, but perhaps a wealthy businessman or politician? A large painting was above the mantle and Canada’s breath caught. He knew that landscape, although now it would be dotted with industry springing up as people moved from the wilderness into the growing cities. It was home, an amalgamation of French Canada. He got up, seeing two small figures in one corner. Golden hair. Warmth spread through his chest. “ _Oui,_ I had that painted long ago. It was one of my few possessions that survived the Revolution.”

“It was always hanging here?”

“I forget that you only came to Versailles with Arthur. Yes, it has always been in my Paris house, whether it was grand or plain.” France came to stand beside him. “I suppose I should welcome you properly to Paris as you probably did not get to see it when Arthur bundled you here at the end of Alfred’s war.”

“That was a hundred years ago anyway, I wager things are very different now.”

“So much so that I can get lost in the memory at times and still expect to see certain places.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Yes, you change so quickly.” France touched Canada’s hair, running his fingers through the blond strands. Canada felt his body respond to even the light touch, a tremble running through him. “Let’s have some wine, hmmm?”

Canada nodded, following him back to the couch and taking the glass the was offered to him. They toasted, Canada closing his eyes at the fruity taste that he recognized. “I’ve had this before.”

“Yes, another thing from long ago.”

Canada cradled the wine glass between his fingers, looking at the ornate patterns on the carpet and trying to gather his thoughts. He’d considered so many words on the train from the port, but they always came out garbled. He looked at France who was examining his wine glass. His golden hair was mussed from their activities, but in a way that drew the eye. Artistic mess. His robe hung halfway open. He wanted to hold the picture in his mind, the smells, the way his heart thudded in his chest. He bit his tongue for a moment, but then said, “I’m going to war.”

The words hung in the air as if they had been fired from a cannon, dominating everything. France frowned, confusion spreading across his face. His words were careful. “Surely I would have heard about it if you were at odds with Alfred again.”

“No, not with him.”

“Who else would you have cause to go to war with?”

“I’m joining the fight in South Africa. Arthur asked me to bring Canadian regiments. It’ll be the first time I’m not fighting for my lands...” Canada took a long sip from his glass, draining it of the sweet liquid. “That’s why I was allowed to come. I think he’s worried about me.”

France’s frown grew deeper, anger crossing his face. “Because he shouldn’t be asking you.”

Canada shook his head, he wanted France to understand. This was an honor, even if he was terrified. “He’s calling on the Dominions to send troops. Some of the others are younger than I am.” France reached out and took his glass, settling it beside the wine bottle before taking both of Canada’s hands in his own.

“War changes nations. You’ve seen it from afar and fought with your brother more times than you probably would have liked. A war to defeat someone for lands that belong to someone else, that is different.” Canada swallowed, worry growing in his stomach. Was France angry with him? “I wish you did not have to go.”

“I... I wanted to spend some time with you, just in case...” Canada found his tongue getting tangled over his thoughts. He paused, France waiting for him to find his voice again. “In case I come back different and you don’t...”

“Stop. Mathieu, you cannot change so much that I will no longer care for you.” Canada’s eyes widened.

“How do you know?”

“Because every change has brought us closer together. I would not have you be anyone else than who you are before me. We are not the same nations we were when I had that painting commissioned.” He tilted his head toward the canvas. Canada looked up at it. He had been half wild then, reaching out to France in curiosity. Trust. Then he’d had to grow up, the war that changed France from brother to enemy making his limbs stretch and his mind age from a child’s.

“No, and I would not change you back either.” Canada leaned forward, France meeting him halfway for a kiss. “Despite how much trouble you are... I don’t want to change this.”

France chuckled. “You are the trouble, but regardless.” France kissed him again in a way that made Canada want to not get up from that sofa ever again. He clung to France. “ _Je t'aime, Mathieu.”_

“ _Je t'aime.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience with this story! If you enjoyed it, please let me know!


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